Somnio Salvus
by Invisibabe
Summary: Year six at Hogwarts, and Draco finds a way to spy on Harry's deepest fears. But will he use this knowledge to gain power over Harry, or to change his own destiny?
1. Chapter 1

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading. 

Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

***

The Herbology essay that had taken forever to research and write was nearly finished. Harry only needed to read up on the correct way to propagate Creeping Fireweed seedlings, and he'd have it done by dinnertime. He sat on his cloak in a quiet spot between the edge of the forest and the lake, and shivered in the chill of early evening. 'An A to Z of Combustible Perennials' sat open in front of him as he scribbled notes on a scrap of parchment. It was beginning to get dark and he was struggling to make out the intricate calligraphy, but it didn't occur to him to finish the assignment in the warm, bright common room. 

'Lumos!' he muttered, and stuck his wand in the branches of a nearby tree, to act as an overhead lamp. As he turned back to his cloak, something caught his eye. Was that a slight movement, just beyond the edge of the forest? He squinted into the gloom...and a large, ugly black bird flapped its way out of the undergrowth, squawking angrily. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, and berated himself for being so jumpy. He sat down and got back to work.

'Let's see...the roots must be treated with a _Fridgidio_ potion, before the seedlings are separated, to prevent them exploding as soon as they are exposed to light...'

Absorbed in his research, Harry barely noticed the clouds overhead becoming darker. The wind picked up, rustling leaves and rippling the surface of the lake. It wasn't until he heard the first rumble of thunder that he looked up. The sky was the colour of ink, and the trees of the forest loomed menacingly, thrashing their gnarled branches in the wind. Harry was not perturbed by the coming storm, in fact he quite liked thunderstorms, but something wasn't right. He stood up and frowned, trying to put his finger on what was wrong. 

He glanced towards the castle. It seemed very far away - had he really walked that far to get here? A sound from behind him made him spin around and stare into the trees. The sound of the leaves rustling was almost like...whispering. Like lots of voices, all whispering together. Wait...that _is _whispering, surely. Harry strained to hear. There were voices, definitely voices, and they were coming nearer. Harry began to panic. This was all very familiar - and not in a good way, he was sure. Where had he heard those voices before? If he could only hear what they were saying, maybe he'd remember.

The first drops of rain plopped into the lake, and Harry stooped to pick up his cloak. He wrapped it around himself, and began to think it might be a good time to run to Hagrid's hut. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He turned...and stopped dead in his tracks. Cloaked figures were emerging from the forest. The whispering became clearer, murmuring '... _advocare circulus_...' Harry froze in terror; he'd seen cloaks and hoods like those before. Death Eaters! There seemed to be hundreds of them, bearing down on him. Their chanting filled his head, and he knew he had heard it before. Surely he had _been_ here before, just like this...and something dreadful had happened.

He willed his legs to move and turned to flee towards the castle. He only got a few yards when_... WHOOSH!_ A jet of flame erupted right in front of him, so close it singed a few stray strands of his hair. He leapt back in shock, and tried to side-step the column of fire. Another one shot up at his feet. He tried running in the opposite direction, but everywhere he went, a new fire would spring up from nowhere, driving him back and scorching his robes. Soon he was surrounded by a ring of roaring fire, flames shooting high into the air. The only gaps in the circle were behind him, where the death eaters blocked his path, and in front of him, his only possible escape. He would have to swim for it. 

Shedding his cloak he waded into the lake. He glanced over his shoulder at the Death Eaters. They weren't following him. They closed the gap in the circle of fire, still chanting, but made no attempt to approach him. He turned back to the lake and took a deep breath, preparing to dive in. Something made him stop. The sense of deja-vu was overwhelming. _He had been here before_, and something told him that diving into the lake would be a very bad idea.

He scanned the surface of the water. A thick mist had descended, and the rain pummelled the water almost into a froth. It was now too dark to see very far, but the light from the magical fire cast a flickering glow, which added to the illusion that the lake was boiling into steam before his eyes. The Death Eaters' chanting, the lashing rain and the crackling of the fire filled his head and a feeling of terror and dread overcame him as he realised too late what was about to happen.

A tall, cloaked figure emerged from the mist, hovering above the water. Red eyes flashed in a pale, skeletal face beneath the black hood. _Voldemort!_ Harry reached into his pocket for his wand...it wasn't there! Of course it wasn't there, it was still in that damn tree, glowing away cheerfully. Voldemort laughed, and the high, cold cackle resonated in Harry's head, chilling him to the very core. 

__

'It's happened before, I know it! What did I do? How did I get away...?' Harry looked helplessly back at his wand, just as Voldemort pointed his own wand at Harry. Instinct took over and Harry flung himself to the ground just as Voldemort uttered 'Crucio!'. The curse whizzed over his head and hit one of the Death Eaters, who screamed and doubled up in agony. One of the fires in the circle abruptly fizzled out. 

Harry frantically scrambled backwards away from Voldemort, splashing in the shallow water at the edge of the lake, hands and feet sliding on the slippery pebbles beneath him. Voldemort didn't bother to _finite_ the miscast Cruciatus curse, but left his follower writhing in agony while his comrades continued their sinister chant. Harry struggled to his feet and half ran, half crawled in the wet grass to where he had sat to write his essay. He lunged for the branch where his wand was propped, just a second too late. 

'_Impedimenta_!' screeched Voldemort, and this time the curse didn't miss. Suddenly Harry felt as though he was wading through treacle. His arms felt as heavy as lead, his feet felt as though they were glued to the floor. He summoned every ounce of strength, and grunted with effort as he reached up and closed his fingers over his wand. It slipped from his grasp as if it was greased. He groped blindly for it, his fingers numb and stiff. He finally caught it, and struggled to turn and face Voldemort, raising his wand with one last enormous effort. 

The second curse (_Confundus!_) hit him before he could speak. Now he couldn't remember what he was going to say. _How did it go again?_ _Expelarus? No,_ _Expendi_... _um,_ _Exeli...._

Voldemort's laughter echoed in his head once more. Coherent thoughts gave way to confusion and helpless fear. He couldn't remember a single spell, not even a simple levitation charm. From the corner of his eye he spotted the gap in the circle of fire, the result of one of the death eaters becoming incapacitated and unable to chant. He staggered towards it, but knew it was hopeless. With every step he felt as though he were dragging a ten ton weight, and Voldemort was raising his wand again.

'_Paludosus_!' 

The ground beneath Harry's feet began to soften, and slowly he sank up to his knees in the mud. He stared down in horror, still clutching his wand. It might as well have been an egg-whisk, for all the good it would do while he was Confunded, but he clung to it in desperation. He reached up, struggling to grab at the lower branches of the tree but only succeeded in sinking up to his waist. Voldemort drifted closer, and glared down at Harry.

'There will be no escape this time,' he hissed. 'You were supposed to die fifteen years ago, Potter. You will do so this evening, after I have repaid you for the years of agony you inflicted on me..._Crucio_!'

Harry screamed and his whole body jerked as if he'd been electrocuted. Every inch of his skin stung as though he was being flayed with a thousand whips, every muscle clenched in spasm until he was sure his bones would snap. The very air he breathed felt like shards of glass in his lungs, and every sound echoed and amplified in his ears until he thought his skull would split open. His helpless convulsions dragged him further into the mud but he was only vaguely aware of the cold stickiness creeping up his chest to his neck. The light from the fires scorched his eyes like hot branding irons and he squeezed his eyelids shut, but it didn't stop the pain. 

He was beginning to black out. A small part of his consciousness prayed to be dragged under - suffocation had to be preferable to this. But even in the worst pain imaginable, Harry couldn't bring himself to give up. He hadn't survived the curse of the most evil wizard in the world only to die at his feet fifteen years later. Between the stabbing jolts of pain, he tried to overthrow the curse, as he had learned to do with _Imperius_. 

__

'Snap out of it, Harry! You still have your wand, you can do it...concentrate...AAARgh!' A fresh surge of agony shot through him, like hot needles jabbing into his spine. _Think, Harry! Clear your head! Wake up....WAKE UP!_

Of course! That's exactly what he had to do. Wake up! That's why all this was so familiar. '_It's not real, Harry,'_ he told himself. '_Wake up...it's a dream...wake UP!'_

'Wake up, Harry!' Another spasm shook him, but - hang on, it didn't hurt. The mud was closing in around his shoulders though, he couldn't free his arms...but he wasn't cold any more...was he dead? 

'HARRY! It's me, Ron! Wake up, it's just a dream!' Harry felt something shake him by the shoulders and snapped his eyes open, expecting to see the vile, gloating face of Voldemort. Instead, he saw a blurry, freckled face, pale with worry. 'Bloody hell, Harry! Are you alright? You were screaming blue murder.' Harry blinked and looked around. He was safe in the dorm, and it was almost daylight. 

'Yeah, I'm alright...I guess.' It was an effort to sit up. He'd managed to get so tangled up in his blankets that his arms were strapped to his sides. He fought his way free and reached for his glasses. The world came back into focus, and for the first time he noticed Dean, Seamus and Neville watching him anxiously. 

'That sounded like a bad one, Harry,' said Seamus, perching on the end of his bed.

'Yeah it was...bad,' Harry admitted. He'd always been prone to nightmares; it was hardly surprising given his past. This was new, though. A recurring dream, always the same, or almost the same. He was always alone, by the lake, and he always ended up about to die a horrible death. The last time had been a week ago. In that one he'd tried to escape by swimming across the lake. He swam straight into Voldemort, who cast the full Body-Bind on him. He'd been about to drown when Ron woke him.

Harry sat up and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, which was bewitched to tick quietly and only chime during daylight hours. It was ten past six. A bit early for a Sunday, but he wasn't going to sleep any more, that was for certain.

'Think I'll have a bath and then get some work done,' he murmured, rubbing his eyes. The other boys still looked worried, so he smiled a wobbly smile. 'I'll be fine, go back to sleep.'

Ron didn't look convinced but he got up and flopped back onto his own bed. Harry peeled off his sweaty pyjama top. His shaky hands fumbled with the buttons, so he gave up and pulled it over his head. Then he padded off to the bathroom, with the familiar queasy feeling that always came over him after one of his nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading. 

Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

***

Draco Malfoy stared out of the library window, scowling at the dreary clouds and drizzle. It was Sunday morning and he had been looking forward to some solitary flying practice. One look at the weather had been the end of that plan, as getting cold and wet was not his favourite thing to do on a weekend. So he opted for some quiet study. It was preferable to rainwater dripping down his neck, even if it was stupid boring pointless Herbology.

He sighed and flipped a page of 'Carnivorous Weeds', only half his mind on the gruesome description of a hapless herbologist's encounter with a Venomous Gulpwort. A moment later the door opened and a small group of Gryffindors entered the library. They headed for the large table by the window but stopped when they saw Malfoy seated there, twirling his quill with an air of menace that suggested he would stab it in the eye of the first person to say 'Do you mind if I sit here?' 

They passed him and settled themselves at a table behind the Herbology shelves. He didn't bother them. Weasley-baiting was no fun if Potter wasn't there to fly into a rage in his defence, and the Boy Who Lived was conspicuously absent. Malfoy returned to his work. His concentration soon lapsed again, and he found himself idly eavesdropping on the Gryffindors' hushed conversation while he doodled a caricature of Weasley being eaten by a Sabre-Toothed Tiger Lily.

'….ate hardly anything at breakfast. Maybe Madam Pomfrey could do something?'

'We persuaded him to go back to bed. He just needs to catch up on some sleep.'

'It's getting so he's too scared to go to sleep, I can't imagine a nightmare so terrible that…'

Draco's head snapped up. All the usual suspects were there; Weasley, Granger, Finnigan, Longbottom and Thomas all present and correct. _So they must be talking about Potter, _he thought. What was this about a nightmare? He leaned back and tilted his chair so he could look around the shelves. Granger was leaning across the table listening intently to Finnigan's description of events the previous night, and several other nights in recent weeks. _So Potter is having recurrent nightmares! _Draco smirked. This could be useful information in his next verbal battle with Potter...

'Poor little Potter, did you have a nasty dream? Didn't Mummy kiss it better and make the scary monsters go away? Oh, that's right, you haven't got a mummy. Never mind, maybe Weasley will let you sleep in his bed next time…'

Draco gathered up his books and walked towards the door, sneering to himself. 

As he made his way to the Slytherin common room, his mind wandered to the nightmares he had suffered with as a child. He could just about recall the images. A dim, smoky cave, with several tunnels leading off it. He knew that one of them led to freedom, but which one? He would tentatively set out along one, but it always turned out to be the wrong one, and he would come face to face with a snarling dragon. The beast would sniff and exhale a puff of smoke before opening its mouth wide. Draco remembered the rows of jagged, blood stained teeth and the reek of petrol, then the bright flash as a jet of flame shot towards him…then he would always wake, screaming for his mother.

Draco's pace slowed as he reminisced. The frequency and severity of the dreams had greatly concerned his mother. She had taken him to a Healer who specialised in sleep disorders, a Madam Schlafen. He remembered having a wand-light shone in his eyes, and being made to stay overnight in Madam Schlafen's clinic. He slept inside a magically created bubble while his mother and the Healer monitored his sleep on a little flickering box. He woke to find his mother and the Healer speaking in hushed tones. He thought he remembered the words, '…not strictly ethical, you understand. Restricted since Grindelwald's days and rightly so. Could lose my license…' in Madam Schlafen's squeaky voice.

His mother had responded with a promise of absolute discretion, and plucked a piece of paper from the Healer's hand. Draco had thought nothing of it - that kind of conversation often cropped up between his parents and their acquaintances.

The next time he had the dream, his mother had appeared by his side, waving her wand and conjuring a large muzzle, which she slipped over the dragon's head, clamping its mouth shut. They had then fitted a lead on the dragon and walked it like a dog, out of the cave and into the sunshine. Draco hadn't been quite so afraid of it after that. The dream came back a few more times, but he and his mother fought off the dragon each time, and eventually it stopped haunting his sleep.

Draco stopped in his tracks. For the first time since those days, he realised that he hadn't simply dreamed about his mother fighting the dragon. In all probability, that was really her. Whatever it was she took from Madam Schlafen must have enabled her to visit his dream and take control.

With new determination, Draco strode off to Slytherin. He hoped the house-elves had lit a fire in the boys' dorm. He needed to talk to his mother.

***

When he returned to Slytherin, most of his house were sprawled around the common room, playing chess or gossiping. He ignored Crabbe and Goyle, who were trying to get him to play exploding snap, and headed for his dorm, where a roaring fire waited for him. He set down his books and sat in front of the fire, flinging a handful of Floo powder into the flames. He leaned into the resulting green flames and said 'The Drawing Room, Malfoy Manor.'

He closed his eyes and sighed impatiently as he felt the rush of warm air over his face. Hot ash and soot were no friends to those with a delicate complexion.

He felt himself slow down and opened his eyes to find himself looking into a spacious, comfortable room.

'Hello, Mother,' he said with a smile, as Narcissa Malfoy turned to face him.

'Draco, dear! What a pleasant surprise, it's not like you to call home out of the blue.'

'I wanted to ask you something,' he replied, getting straight to the point. 'How did you cure my nightmares, when I was a child?'

Narcissa looked taken aback. 'Well, dear, we took you to Madam Schlafen's clinic, don't you remember?'

'Yes, but what was it she gave you, to make the nightmares go away?'

She was getting a little flustered. 'Umm, I believe it was a mild potion, a Narcotica Potion! Yes that's it! It's a sedative draught'.

Draco patiently polished his silver cloak fastenings with a corner of his robe. He didn't look up as he replied 'Don't lie to me, Mother. She gave you a piece of paper, and you promised to be discreet. Why would you need to be discreet about a basic sedative potion?'

Narcissa sighed, defeated. 'Very well. I will tell you. But you must swear not to reveal what I'm going to tell you to anyone. Only Madam Schlafen, your father, and I know the truth.'

'I swear on my inheritance,' replied Draco.

Narcissa nodded, satisfied. 'Madam Schlafen gave me a prescription for dried blood extracted from a hibernating Blue Tongued Viper. It is a powerful ingredient in all potent sleeping potions, and in several medicinal draughts for sleep disorders. It isn't supposed to be prescribed except in the most severe cases of insomnia. I…persuaded…the Healer to prepare a prescription for you, as I had heard of a potion that I knew I could use to banish your nightmares, and viper blood was the only ingredient I couldn't get hold of. It is a Class B Non-Tradeable Substance, because of the damage it can do in…ahem…the wrong hands. With the Dark Lord gone and his supporters scattered I didn't even have contacts who could get it on the black market. It was the only way.'

'What was the potion?' probed Draco, insistently.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. 'Why?' she asked.

Draco shrugged. 'Just interested. I had a…a kind of flashback. I remembered the dream, and I wondered how you made it go away'.

Narcissa sighed again. 'It's of no significance what it was. It's illegal anyway and viper blood is harder to get hold of than ever. Besides, I can't remember what it was called. I came across it by accident when I was looking for the recipe for Veritaserum.'

Draco was disappointed, but not discouraged. A plan was forming in his mind which was far better than teasing Potter about his nightmares. He could use his new-found knowledge more profitably, if he could only find out what the potion was.

'Draco...?'

He was startled out of his thoughts by the realisation that Narcissa was waiting for him to reply.

'Oh. Right. Well, thanks for telling me, anyway. I won't breathe a word.'

'Of course, dear.'

'Give my regards to Father.'

'I will. Take care, Draco.'

'Goodbye, Mother.'

***

The next day in Potions class, Draco couldn't help watching Potter across the room. It was true that he looked tired and pale. The dark shadows under his eyes were magnified by his glasses, making him look a bit like a rather skinny panda. Draco was intrigued. What was so terrifying that it kept brave, heroic Harry Potter awake, night after night? Maybe he dreamed about Granger and the Weasel getting down to it? That would be enough to give anybody nightmares! He snorted to himself while stirring his Hair Growth potion , and almost forgot to add the egg yolk.

At the end of the lesson he took his time packing up his equipment, sending Crabbe and Goyle on to their next class ahead of him. He wanted to speak to Professor Snape.

He was nervous. He knew that Snape was observant, and could spot a deception a mile away if he chose to. But he also had a blind spot where his favourite pupil was concerned, and Draco was depending on it as he drew a piece of parchment from his bag and approached Snape's desk.

'Ahem…um…Sir?'

Snape didn't look up from the homework assignments he was marking. 'What is it, Mr Malfoy?'

Draco pulled himself together and tried to appear his confident and arrogant self. 'Would you mind signing out a library book for me, sir? I am particularly interested in the mood-control serums you mentioned last week, and I was thinking of researching antidotes for my theory project.'

Snape took the parchment and glanced at it. 'Moste Potente Potions?' he raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, Sir…' Draco ploughed on, determined to swamp Snape with enthusiasm, '…I asked Madam Pince for advice on the best sources and she said nearly all the information I needed would be in here. I wasn't sure if I was happy about reading one of the restricted books but she said if I got a note from you it would be fine, as long as I'm responsible of course.'

He put on his most responsible expression. Of course, what Madam Pince had actually said was more along the lines of 'Sixth Year Students reading Restricted Books? Over my dead body!'

__

We can but hope… he had thought to himself as he walked away, clutching a permission form.

Professor Snape was no fool, but he liked to think that his most able student had a genuine interest and he appeared inclined to indulge him.

'Very well,' he remarked, endorsing the form with his restrained, angular signature. He handed the form to Draco, who took it eagerly, but Snape did not let go. Draco looked up warily. Snape was eyeing him shrewdly with an intense gaze. Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape could look right into his head and was watching his thoughts being played out on the back of his skull.

'I am sure you are aware, Mr Malfoy, that there are substances detailed in this book which are not suitable for experimentation by the most able wizards. The consequences of dabbling by students could be catastrophic. I hope I do not need to tell you to behave responsibly while in possession of this manuscript.'

'Yes Sir. I mean, no Sir', gabbled Draco, briefly losing his customary poise in his excitement. Snape released the parchment and Draco pocketed it with relief.

'Thank you, Professor,' he said hurriedly, and dashed from the room.

***

Madam Pince looked as if she'd rather sunbathe naked under the Whomping Willow than let Draco have the book. But she couldn't argue with an authorised request, although she did use a Revealing Charm to check the authenticity of the signature. Eventually she handed it over, with strict instructions that it was not to be left lying around, that he was not to make copies of any of the recipes, and he was absolutely not, under any circumstances, to attempt to make any of the potions. Draco smiled sweetly and left the library, the precious book tucked under his arm.

***

Back in his dorm that night, Draco waited until everyone was asleep, then pulled 'Moste Potente Potions' out from under his pillow. The only other copy of this book that he knew to exist was in his father's library. He also knew that the recipe for Veritaserum was in it. If his mother came across the dream potion while looking for Veritaserum, there was a good chance it would be in here.

He turned the stiff, stained pages carefully. It looked like many a clumsy wizard had suffered the odd mishap while preparing these concoctions. A page on Oil of the Burning Touch was singed all round the edges. The whole bottom half of a page on Vanishing lotion was missing. Some of the names were familiar; Veritaserum, Polyjuice, Draught of the Living Death…He must be close. This appeared to be a whole chapter on sleeping potions. 

He turned a page and stopped, fascinated. The next page showed a magical moving picture, the lines faded but still visible. It depicted a woman drinking a potion and going into some kind of trance. The background of the picture was swirly and indistinct, but as the potion took effect, the background came into focus and the woman's body began to fade. The swirling mist gradually took form and became a desert. Nasty looking lizards scuttled across the page and a strong wind whipped at the sand. In one corner of the picture there was a little girl, huddled on the ground crying. The woman appeared in the middle of the page, and ran to comfort the lost child. Then the image faded and began all over again. There were only two words at the top of the page; '_Somnio Salvus_.'


	3. Chapter 3

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading. 

Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

Fifty house points to the first to spot my tribute to the Marauders.  


***

Draco turned the page and began to read.

'Somnio Salvus enables the drinker's spirit to visit the sleeping subconscious of another, making it possible to observe the sleeping person's dreams. Events in the dream can even be changed and controlled by the visiting mind.' Draco smiled to himself. This must be it. He read on…

'This powerful solution is especially useful to a parent who wishes to put a stop to a child's nightmares – however, caution is necessary. If a person's dreams are invaded repeatedly, the mind's ability to process new information will be impaired. The effects of this include short-term memory loss, insomnia, and eventually, psychosis.'

__

Wow! thought Draco. _Mother really took some risks with my mental health!_

A footnote on the page caught his eye.

'The potion can only be used when the target is asleep. If they are awake, the conscious mind will fight off the intrusion'.

Draco's eyes scanned down the list of ingredients. Most of them were pretty common. If they weren't in the student store cupboard he was pretty sure he could get them in Hogsmeade. Except the viper blood of course. A quick glance through a Potions Encyclopaedia had confirmed that it was indeed a restricted substance, due to its powerful narcotic effect. Even without the restrictions, it would be rare and expensive. Apparently Blue Tongued Vipers didn't take kindly to being exsanguinated in their sleep. Very few wizards had the necessary skill to extract the blood without waking the snake. Those who failed didn't generally live to tell the tale.

The last ingredient sounded tricky too: 'One drop of nectar from an orchid grown on the dead stump of a Weeping Willow.' Draco knew that Greenhouse Five had orchids in it, he'd seen them through the window. He'd have to find an excuse to quiz Professor Sprout about them. He went to sleep feeling confident that he would be invading Harry Potter's sleeping subconscious within the week.

***

Harry didn't sleep that night. Too tired to stay up, but too scared to fall asleep, he dozed fitfully in between long periods of staring at the ceiling. Little problems like the library book he'd forgotten to take back suddenly became huge, nagging worries to his overtired mind. He began to seriously consider going to Madam Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion. He knew it wouldn't solve the problem of nightmares but at least he'd get one night's sleep. He was still reluctant to go to anyone for help though. He was embarrassed about being scared of a dream, and didn't want it to go any further than his closest friends.

He tried to occupy his mind with more pleasant thoughts, like Quidditch. Professor McGonagall had hinted that she might be able to arrange some extra practice sessions for the Gryffindor team…but it was no good. The thought of Professor McGonagall merely started him worrying about his Transfiguration essay. Hermione had been giving him personal tuition in Arithmancy because she said it was very helpful in understanding the finer points of Transfiguration. She was right, but he still had to write the damn thing.

He sighed, turned over and recited Arithmancy formulas in his head until it was time to get up.

***

The next day Draco visited the student store cupboard and helped himself to cactus pollen, nettle juice and angelfish scales. He visited the house elves in the kitchen at lunchtime to request sunflower oil and apple pips. He'd have to go to Hogsmeade to buy the baby's tears. But today he might have an opportunity to acquire the orchid nectar. The last lesson of the day was double Herbology in Greenhouse Three. He normally hated Herbology - it was boring and repetitive, and involved getting his hands dirty, but today he was almost keen. 

When class started he glanced through the window while collecting seeds from a Fuming Pythus, and saw that the orchids in Greenhouse Five were in full flower. Now was the time to ask Professor Sprout about them. Maybe if he feigned enough interest she might volunteer some information about what type of tree stumps they were growing on. But at that moment, Goyle lifted his gas mask to scratch his nose, was overcome by fumes and passed out on the floor. Professor Sprout became rather preoccupied in getting him out into the fresh air, and when she returned it was time to pack up. 

Draco took his time, ensuring he was the last to leave. He dawdled while Professor Sprout chastised a Ravenclaw for leaving a pruning knife where the Venomous Tentacula could reach it. Then he ambled slowly towards the exit while the last stragglers washed their hands in the sink by the door. He had a moment of panic when the Professor gathered up her tools and left herself, and he had to run to catch her up. He couldn't believe his luck when he saw where she was going. He approached her as she was unlocking the door to Greenhouse Five and cleared his throat.

'Erm, Professor Sprout?'

She looked surprised. 'Yes, Mr Malfoy?'

'I was wondering if I could talk to you about the flesh-eating plants essay. I can't seem to find any information on…um…Venus flytraps'.

'Ah. That's because the Venus flytrap has absolutely no magical properties whatsoever. You won't find anything about it in the school library. Why don't you pick another example, a Venomous Gulpwort perhaps.' She opened the door and stepped inside. There was a big sign on the door saying 'Staff Only. Strictly no Students Allowed'. Under that was a smaller sign saying 'Trespassers Will Be Eaten'.

'Um, actually Professor, I thought it would be interesting to write about both, and compare the characteristics of magical and non-magical carnivorous plants…'

Professor Sprout looked impressed. 'Well, I must say, Mr Malfoy, I am surprised at you taking such an interest in the subject. I never knew that you were this keen. You're right, of course, it would be interesting…let's see…come in for a moment, we can discuss it while I water the orchids. Oh don't worry about that,' she added as she saw Draco eyeing the sign warily, 'nothing in here is dangerous at this time of year. These plants are rare and valuable though so please don't touch anything.'

Draco stepped inside and was immediately struck by the dizzying scents of a thousand exotic flowers. He felt quite light-headed as he followed Professor Sprout along the path.

'Let's see, you could write to my friend Dr. Dunn of the Royal Horticultural Society, he'd be able to tell you what you need. Ask the Post Office to send your letter by Muggle post though. Or, if you're very keen I could give you an extension until Christmas, so you can visit a Muggle library over the holidays. Perhaps I should speak to Madam Pince about setting up an inter-library loan service with Muggle libraries. It would be good for Muggle Studies too…'

Draco's head was starting to spin. He wanted to find what he needed and get out into the air as soon as possible.

'What are these plants for?' he asked, gesturing at the orchids.

'Ah, these are very special. Orchids have quite potent magical powers but only if grown in a certain way. Quite a challenge, these can be. This one for example.' She pointed to a bright orange bloom shaped like a large insect. 'About as magical as a bootlace, unless you water it with an infusion of aconite, then it produces pollen with the most extraordinary cleansing properties. It's the only thing that can get Dewberry juice off your skin before it sinks in and dyes you purple from the inside out.'

Draco wasn't really listening - he had spotted a large but plain-looking white flower growing on a tree stump.

'What about that one?' he asked innocently.

'Ah, interesting!' replied Professor Sprout enthusiastically. 'It's just a basic _Odontonia_. But you'll notice it's growing on a dead tree stump. That makes the flower produce nectar with mind-altering effects. I find weeping willow gives the best results.'

'M…mind altering?' mumbled Draco, getting dizzier by the second.

'Yes. Used responsibly it can open the mind to some quite extraordinary psychic effects but…' Professor Sprout's face clouded for a moment. 'Of course it's sometimes abused. About twenty years ago a group of students got hold of some, how they got in here I'll never know. They were in the hospital wing staring at each other and giggling for a week, all four of them…'

Professor Sprout moved on up the path, pointing out interesting plants and occasionally stopping to spray one with a little brass pump-bottle. She was preoccupied enough not to notice Draco reach out and pluck a white Odontonia flower from its stalk and pocket it swiftly.

The thick, scented air was becoming unbearable. Draco took a deep breath and slurred 'Thanks, Professor…umm. I'll just be going now…'

'Hmm, yes, spicy aren't they? Best get some air, Mr Malfoy, your eyes look quite dilated…'

Draco staggered out. He gulped the fresh air and felt his head clear. He headed back to the castle, wondering how the Professor managed to spend more than a few minutes at a time in Greenhouse Five. _No wonder she's batty…_ he mused. 

***

Oddly enough, the viper blood turned out to be easy compared to the orchid nectar. That evening Malfoy visited Goyle in the hospital wing where he was recovering from inhaling Pythus fumes. Madam Pomfrey was at dinner, and her store cupboard, though locked, was unsupervised. Draco deposited a few Chocolate Frogs on Goyle's bed to keep him occupied, and investigated the cupboard door. _Alohomora_ didn't work, of course. Madam Pomfrey wasn't stupid. However he doubted that she would have guarded against any of the advanced unlocking spells he had learned from 'The Looter's Manual' (a birthday present last year from Crabbe and Goyle). 

He checked the side wards to make sure nobody was listening, then tapped the lock, whispering '_Surripero_'. The lock sprang open and he opened the door, stepping inside the cavernous store-cupboard. Shelves lined the walls up to the ceiling, and they were all crammed with bottles, jars and flasks. How on earth was he going to find the one he wanted, even if it was here? 

As he began to rummage among the magical medicines on the shelves his eyes came to rest on a small wooden chest in a dark corner. It was padlocked and had a skull and crossbones scorched into the wood. _If I were to keep any restricted ingredients handy for emergencies, that's where I'd put them_, he thought. He suspected that the key to this padlock was one of the many that Madam Pomfrey wore on a chain at her belt. No matter, _Surripero_ worked once again. Inside the chest Draco found rows and rows of small phials containing the more dangerous components of medicinal potions. Belladonna extract, dried Destroying Angel mushrooms, Runespoor venom, Dittany seeds... and dried blood of a Blue Tongued Viper. 

Draco's heart hammered as he tipped some of the reddish brown powder into an envelope and tucked it into his robes. He closed the chest and snapped the padlock shut, then closed the cupboard door. He couldn't lock it again without the key, but he hoped Madam Pomfrey would just assume she forgot to lock it.

He padded quietly back to the main ward where Goyle was guzzling Chocolate Frogs, threatened him with the _Haemorrhoidus_ _Colossus_ curse if he breathed a word to anybody, and left.

***

Draco skipped lunch the next day, taking his broomstick and telling everyone loudly that he was going to practice his Bludger-dodging for an hour instead. It was a damp, misty day so he was fairly sure nobody else would be hanging around the Quidditch pitch, noticing his absence. 

Instead he flew straight to Hogsmeade, landing neatly outside the Apothecary's shop. He handed over twenty Sickles in exchange for a small bottle of baby's tears, then as an afterthought he called in at the Post Office. He dashed off a short note to Dr Dunn requesting information about the Venus flytrap, and watched with amusement as the postmistress stuck a funny little gold label on it. There was a picture on it of a woman who looked a bit like Madam Malkin.

He was back at Hogwarts in time for Charms, looking suitably flushed, as though he had spent an hour racing around the Quidditch pitch. 

He was distracted during lessons that afternoon. His attention drifted between Potter, who was ghoulishly pale and looked like he was about to fall asleep over his parchment, and the small bottle tucked into his robes. It would shortly join the other ingredients he had packed into his portable cauldron and stashed under his bed.

Professor Flitwick was trying to teach the class Singing Charms. Granger had already managed to make a jewellery box sing 'That Old Black Magic'. Draco wasn't concentrating properly, and all he managed to get out of his jewellery box was a slightly off-key chorus from 'Baby You Can Ride My Broomstick'. 

History of Magic wasn't much better. Professor Binns droned on about the Kneazle-hunting protests and Draco didn't hear a word. When the bell rang at the end of the day Draco nearly ran back to his dorm. While his housemates sat in the common room doing homework and chatting before dinner, he retrieved his cauldron and 'Moste Potente Potions', and slipped away to a broom cupboard off the potions corridor. Nobody would think anything of a strange smell in the potions department, and besides, he knew Filch never used this cupboard. All that was in it was a bucket with a hole in the bottom, an empty wooden crate and lots of cobwebs. A dusty oil-lamp hung from the ceiling, which he lit with an _Incendio_ spell. He sat on the crate and set up his cauldron on the upturned bucket, conjuring a cheery fire underneath it. 

The instructions were complicated but that didn't concern him; he had never had difficulty with potions. All that was needed was patience, accuracy and an eye for detail. Soon all the ingredients had been measured out, carefully added to the mixture and stirred the correct number of times. The potion frothed slightly, just like the book said it should. Draco ladled it into a flask and stoppered it, whispering cleaning and cooling charms over his cauldron. A quick glance up the corridor to check that the coast was clear, and then he was on his way, only ten minutes late for dinner.

***

Harry stared into his lamb stew. He was hungry, but so tired he didn't know if he had the energy to eat. He fumbled with his spoon, and managed to get some of the broth into his mouth. That helped, actually. He felt a little better and managed to get a rhythm going: Open, close, swallow. Open, close, swallow…He'd never had to concentrate on eating before. 

He managed to focus his attention on the conversation going on around him. Hermione was enthusing loudly about the International Convention of Academic Magic, which was due to take place during the Christmas Holidays. Ron was groaning that he could think of better ways to spend Christmas.

'But ICAM is the most important event in the wizarding calendar! Some of the most influential witches and wizards in the country will be speaking. There'll be new ideas presented and seminars and poster presentations. Think of what we could _learn_…'

She thrust a flier at Seamus, who raised both hands in horror and cried 'Don't look at me, I'm going to Switzerland skiing at Christmas, with the Muggle side of the family'.

Dean and Neville didn't think of an excuse in time and were presented with a flier each. Harry had a spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth when he heard the words 'You'll come, won't you Harry?' and a flier was thrust in his face.

Way too tired to argue, he took it and stuffed it into a pocket of his robe. 'Yeah, sure' he smiled half-heartedly.

Hermione smiled, encouraged, then turned to have another go at Ron. Harry downed a glass of pumpkin juice and glanced across the hall. He caught Malfoy's gaze, and was startled to notice the glint in the Slytherin's eye as he smirked, raising his glass in a mocking salute.

So he was plotting some fouler-than-usual scheme to get him into trouble. Normally that would have Harry worried. But he was too tired to care. Nightmare or no nightmare, he would have to sleep tonight or he would collapse from exhaustion. Making his excuses, Harry skipped dessert and made his way up to bed. He was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading. 

Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

***

After dinner Draco sat at the best table in the common room, close to the fire, and wrote a letter. He pointedly ignored anyone who tried to sit with him, so that they soon got bored and got up again. Pansy sidled over at one point and tried to ooze into his lap, purring: 'Why won't you come and play with us, Draco?'

He glanced over at an open space near the stairs. The other Slytherins were playing 'Contortions'. Adapted from the Muggle game 'Twister', this version allowed the use of charms and spells, but you could only use them on yourself. Blaise Zabini had used a flexibility charm, and the position he was now arranged in looked quite grotesque. Draco made a face.

'Think I'll pass, thanks. I need to get this letter finished tonight.' Pansy huffed and stalked away. When it was her turn she made a great show of draping herself across Blaise to reach for a blue circle on the other side of him, but Draco didn't notice. He was reading over the letter he had written.

__

Hogwarts School

October 11th 1996

__

Dear Father,

I hope that you and Mother are well, and that the Crup puppies have stopped chewing the furniture. Have they recovered from the tail-docking incident yet? 

Everything is fine here at school. I got the top mark in the Potions assignment on flavouring solutions. Granger's face was a picture when Professor Snape announced it was my solution that would be used in the desserts at the Halloween Feast.

Quidditch is better than ever. We beat Hufflepuff by three hundred and ten points in the first match of the season. I'm very much looking forward to the Gryffindor match next week. I'm more confident than ever that I can beat Potter. I think being completely hammered into the ground at Quidditch would be good for the smug git.

Quidditch aside, though, I think I have found a way to really find out what makes the great Harry Potter tick. If it works I'll be able to discover secrets about him that nobody knows, not even his best friends. If I'm right, I can get right inside his head and really make his life hell. Then he'll be sorry he ever turned down the offer of friendship of a Malfoy!

Draco paused, brushing his cheek with the end of his quill. He didn't want to state the nature of his plan; it was illegal after all. He had a feeling he would be forbidden to go through with it for fear of being found out and bringing dishonour on the family name. His father had once told him he should at least give the impression of pleasantness towards Potter, so to be on the safe side, he decided not to say any more and to delay sending the letter until after he had tried out the potion.

He glanced up and frowned at the sight of Pansy bending over backwards, a seventh year named Bruce Plunkett had managed to position himself between her legs.

'Hey Pans!' he called. 'I'm writing to my father, anything you want to say?'

'Tell him I think he's almost as gorgeous as his son, and any time he wants to….'

'Ok, ok, that will do,' he sighed, putting quill to paper once again.

__

Pansy sends her love.

__

Your devoted son,

Draco Malfoy

He folded the letter and tucked it into his Herbology textbook. Then he got up, climbed over a tangle of limbs on the floor (where the 'Contortions' game was rapidly deteriorating into an excuse for the boys to look up the girls' skirts), and climbed the stairs to his dorm. 

He drew the curtains around his bed and opened 'Moste Potente Potions' to the page containing instructions on how to use the _Somnio Salvus_ potion. He discovered that all he had to do was wait until Potter was asleep (he'd have to guess that part, obviously), then drink a mouthful of the potion, close his eyes, and relax. He should experience a period of dizziness, then a feeling of flying. Then he just had to picture Potter's face as clearly as he could, and Potter's dream world would materialise around him. Easy enough! The important thing was to relax into the dizziness, and allow the spinning sensation to take over.

He changed for bed and set a personal alarm spell for four in the morning. Everyone would be asleep by then and hopefully Potter would be in the middle of a nightmare. He extinguished his bedside lamp with a flick of his wand and settled down to sleep. 

Oddly enough, he dreamed about dragons.

***

Draco woke to the persistent soft beeping of the alarm spell, in the small hours of the morning. Groggy with sleep, he sat up and groped for his wand. 

'Lumos' he grunted, then squinted painfully against the sudden light. Gradually the curtained cocoon of his four poster bed came into focus. He reached for the potion flask on his bedside table, and poured a small amount into a beaker. He swirled the purple liquid and sniffed it. It smelled of almonds. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign, wasn't there a poison he'd read about somewhere that smelled of almonds? No, he was certain he'd brewed the potion correctly, and he was no dunce when it came to potions. He took a deep breath, raised the beaker, muttered 'Cheers, Potter', and knocked it back in one gulp. It tasted almost pleasant, like burnt marzipan, with a peppery aftertaste. 

He lay back down and concentrated on the warm, tickly feeling the potion made in his stomach. Soon he began to feel slightly dizzy and closed his eyes. His mind was full of images of swirling fog and a chaos of colours and light. Remembering the instructions he'd read, he tried not to fight the dizziness, letting the sensation of spinning faster and faster overcome him. Abruptly the whirling chaos subsided, replaced by a sensation of weightlessness, of floating serenely through the mist. 

Draco recognised this as the point where he had to guide himself to his target. He tried to create a picture in his mind of Harry. _Bright green eyes, messy black hair, round glasses_…it wasn't working. This was frustrating. How often had he glared at Potter's ugly mug? And now he couldn't seem to picture him. 

He tried something else. He pictured Harry doing typically Harry-ish things. Playing Quidditch, with that annoyingly confident style that made it look so easy; sitting at the Gryffindor table having a good-natured but heated argument with Weasley; sitting in the Potions dungeon, absently chewing his quill while copying down ingredients.

__

That's better. Harry's face came clearly into focus, turning to scowl at him like he usually did in Potions. Draco held that image in his mind and let the flying sensation intensify. He was soaring now, faster and faster until…SLAM! 

He found himself lying face down on what appeared to be grass. Slowly he got up, feeling rather disorientated. He raised his head, and found he was in the castle grounds, near the lake. It all looked normal, and very real. He had to remind himself that it was only a creation of Harry Potter's subconscious. Now all he needed to do was find Potter.

It didn't take long. He turned towards the forest, and saw a crowd of cloaked figures, all standing around a tall, gnarled looking tree which Draco was certain didn't exist in the real grounds. Something was going on under the tree, but he couldn't make it out. He moved closer, and was amazed to discover that if he willed it, he could move completely silently. He could also make a light breeze appear and ripple the grass at his feet. He amused himself for a moment by levitating a few inches off the ground without using his wand. 

'_Ha! I can do anything here_!' he mused with delight, then realised that what he _should_ be doing was observing the scene down by the forest. He sneaked closer, willing himself not to be seen. Up close it was obvious who these people were. He'd seen cloaks and masks like that before. He had never seen Death Eaters in action though, and watched in fascination as they chanted an eerie incantation.

One of them stepped into the centre of the circle and waved his wand at an overhanging bough of the tree. Something long and silvery appeared, dangling from the branch. He didn't have time to speculate on what it might be, because at that moment a thin, skeletal figure emerged from the mist, floating towards the lakeshore.

Draco had never seen the Dark Lord before, but there was no question that this was him. He crept closer, and stifled a gasp when he saw Voldemort's face. He didn't know what he had expected, but he had thought that he would at least _look_ human, even if he technically wasn't any more.

The red, unblinking eyes gazed into the centre of the circle, and the slit nostrils flared. Draco wouldn't have been surprised to see a forked tongue flicker out. The creature began to speak, and Draco listened.

'At last. The great Harry Potter cowers at my feet, where he belongs'…

Draco frowned. Harry Potter? Where? He moved closer still, so he was barely a few feet away from the nearest Death Eater. Peering between the cloaked shapes he could see Harry sprawled on the ground as if he'd been dropped from a height. He appeared to be immobilised in some way - perhaps the chanting…? He was holding his wand, and was trying to say something, but seemed to be under a silencing spell, too.

Draco was so busy observing Harry's condition he hadn't listened to Voldemort's tirade, but turned his attention to the Dark Lord in time to hear him announce, 'You will pay for the years of anguish and agony. You will pay, and then, like your parents, you will die…'

With that, Voldemort slowly raised his wand. Harry appeared to get up, but Draco soon realised that Voldemort controlled every movement. Eventually Harry was in a standing position, but floating three feet above the ground. He was still trying to utter a spell, but his mouth moved soundlessly. Suddenly Draco realised what the silvery object dangling from the tree was. It was a rope, or rather, a noose. 

With a flick of his wand, the Death Eater who conjured it slipped the noose over Harry's head and it began to tighten around his neck. Harry closed his eyes and waved his wand ineffectually with one hand, while clutching at the rope around his neck with the other. He was still frantically trying to speak.

Voldemort murmured 'Prepare to understand the meaning of suffering…_Crepitus_!' He waved his wand with a sudden flourish as though he were brandishing an invisible whip. The effect was much the same. A sickening crack echoed among the trees and Harry jerked violently. Draco winced. He noticed that Harry's left leg now hung in an unnatural looking fashion. The sight made him feel a little queasy and he gulped. Uneasily, he glanced at Voldemort to see what he would do next. He raised his wand and another crack resonated through Draco's skull. 

Again and again, Voldemort performed his bone-cracking curse. When Draco finally brought himself to look, Harry resembled a limp rag-doll; clothes ripped and bloodstained, arms and legs bent at awkward angles. His broken fingers had finally dropped the wand, but his pale, bruised face was still trying to speak.

Voldemort paused and stepped closer to Harry, looking up into the half-lidded green eyes. Draco found himself quivering with dread, how Harry could stare back into that gaze was beyond him. 

'Enough sport!' announced Voldemort 'Farewell, Harry Potter. Give my regards to your parents.' He stepped away. Harry closed his eyes. 

'_Finite incantatem_!' said Voldemort, casually flicking his wand at Harry's mangled body. The levitating spell dissolved and Harry's limp form dropped helplessly. The silver rope jerked tight…and Draco found himself hurled through the swirling chaos once more, his consciousness returning to his body with a force that convulsed every muscle.

His head swam. His stomach churned. He forced his legs to work and staggered to the bathroom where he retched helplessly. Panting and sweating, he collapsed against the wall. _Probably a response to the disorientation following an out-of-body experience_, he told himself. _Or maybe I did make the potion wrong, and I've poisoned myself_. 

It was a while before he could bring his mind to think over the sickening scene he had witnessed. He didn't sleep again that night.

***

Harry woke with a gasp, clawing at his throat and struggling for breath. It took him a moment to realise that the hangman's noose was really only his school tie. He'd been so tired when he came up to bed he'd fallen asleep in his clothes. He stuck his head out of his curtains and checked the clock. Nearly five o'clock. Judging by the soft snores and sleepy mumbling coming from Dean's bed, he hadn't woken his housemates this time.

He changed into his pyjamas and crawled back into bed. He didn't think he'd go back to sleep, but he may as well be warm and comfortable for a few more hours. 

His mind was unable to keep from drifting back over the dream, as it always did. In essentials, it was the same as ever, with some slightly different dialogue on Voldemort's part, and of course a new and thrilling way to die. But there had been a moment at the end when something had been different.

When Voldemort had levitated him he could see over the heads of the Death Eaters. He only got a brief glimpse but he thought he saw someone a short distance away, watching events without taking part. The figure had looked horrified, staring at Voldemort, and then at Harry as though in disbelief. If Harry didn't know better, he could have sworn it was…but no, that couldn't be right. Why would his nightmare suddenly change and incorporate Draco Malfoy? True, he was not exactly top of Harry's Christmas card list but he was hardly the stuff of nightmares, either. Compared with Voldemort he was like a slightly naughty puppy next to a rabid Rottweiler.

Ah well, it was probably of no significance. Harry was not a believer in the interpretation of dreams and even if he were, a dream about Draco Malfoy standing back and watching him die would hardly tell him anything he didn't already know. 

He gulped down a glass of water and snuggled down in his blankets. Somehow the dream hadn't disturbed him as much as usual. It had been frightening, and very realistic, but he hadn't felt so terribly…alone. Soon he was quite relaxed, and managed to snooze lightly until he was roused by Seamus and his early-morning shower time singsong.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading. 

Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

***

Harry was early to breakfast for the first time in weeks. By the time Hermione had arrived, he had finished his second bowl of cereal and was reaching for the eggs. He was so busy piling up his plate he didn't notice he had an audience until Hermione asked, 

'Shall I get you a bigger plate, Harry?'

'Ehm?' he replied, through a mouthful of toast.

'She means it's nice to see you've got your appetite back,' explained Ron, watching Harry scoop up scrambled eggs with his toast.

'Hmm. It's weird, I'm ravenous this morning,' mused Harry.

'You look healthier, too. You've got some colour back. Decent night's sleep at last?' asked Hermione.

'Yeah,' smiled Harry, then returned his attention to his food.

Hermione sighed with relief and smiled at Ron. 'Maybe you're getting over the nightmares after all. I must admit I thought it would take some sort of medical potion…'

'Oh, I had the nightmare…' interrupted Harry. Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise. Harry cleared his throat, reluctant to elaborate, but they were still staring at him. 'Umm, it wasn't so bad. I mean it was. Awful. But there was…I wasn't…'

He never liked talking about his dreams, and today was especially difficult. He looked across at the Slytherin table. An unusually pale, tired-looking Malfoy looked back, expressionless. Steel-grey eyes gazed into Harry's, but without the usual sneer of loathing and contempt. Instead there was…something else.

Harry forgot what he was saying, for a moment. Ron followed Harry's gaze.

'Hell, what's wrong with Malfoy? He looks like death warmed up!' he said gleefully.

Hermione turned to look, Harry's dream momentarily forgotten. 'Good grief. Has he even done his hair this morning? He must be ill if he can't be bothered with his appearance. Maybe it's flu…'

'Maybe it's typhoid,' said Ron hopefully.

***

Draco Malfoy wasn't ill. At least, not physically. He was, however, in a state of shock. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he invaded Harry's dreams. Perhaps being chased by Dementors, or being locked in the cupboard that Harry's Muggle family made him sleep in. Maybe dragons. He could have coped with dragons. But he was having difficulty coping with the reality of what he had seen and heard the previous night.

Of course he had always known Voldemort was ruthless. He was well aware that during his rise to power there had been casualties. That was the case with any war. It was no secret that Voldemort had killed the Potters, for example. According to his father, they had tried to destroy him on many occasions and had come dangerously close to succeeding, so Voldemort had simply acted in self-defence. Draco also knew that occasionally people needed to be…persuaded…to see Voldemort's point of view. If that involved the odd threat or use of an Imperiuscurse then fair enough. It was all for the greater good, and the ends justified the means. A little bit of fear never hurt anyone, after all. 

It had never occurred to Draco to wonder why Voldemort had wanted to kill Harry Potter. After all, he had been just a baby, so it must have been a mistake. The Potters would have put up a fight, as would the Death Eaters. By all accounts there was a small battle which destroyed the whole house. Voldemort must have aimed a curse at the child in the confusion…surely? And all the horror stories, which his father said were invented by the Ministry to keep people from following a progressive radical who would revolutionise the running of the wizarding world…they _were_ just stories, they had to be!

But last night he learned something he didn't know. If Harry's subconscious mind was to be believed, Voldemort was in the habit of torturing people to death if they aggravated him, and that was not the action of a noble leader with commendable beliefs.

Draco went over and over the dream in his head, trying to reassure himself. _It was just a dream, Draco. And somebody else's dream, at that. The Dark Lord doesn't really operate like that…_ But in the back of his mind he knew that Harry had met Voldemort, several times, and had been in a position to observe first hand _exactly_ how the Dark Lord operated. Harry's dream was a more reliable indicator of Voldemort's real nature than anything his father had ever told him, and that meant that everything he had been brought up to believe…_might not be true?_

Ron choked on his cornflakes. 'Look! Quick! I think he's going to throw up!'

Hermione and Harry glanced up in time to see Malfoy stagger to his feet and run from the hall, ashen-faced and holding a hand to his mouth.

'Choked on your own ego, Malfoy?' crowed Ron.

'Stop it, Ron!' said Harry. They both stared at him. Harry stared back, wondering what on earth had possessed him to say that. He recovered well. 'He must have just realised he forgot to brush his hair this morning.' 

They all laughed.

***

Draco ran blindly, not caring where he ended up, as long as he was away from prying eyes. If he was going to have a crisis of faith he was damned if he'd have it in front of the whole school. 

He stopped when he reached the deserted Charms department and stood, gasping, in the middle of the corridor. He had to speak to his father, find out if it was true. He had to find out if Lucius himself had…_no, no that's not possible_. He tried to banish the thought, even as an unfamiliar burning sensation afflicted his eyes and he realised he was about to cry. 

He dropped to his knees, shaking with silent sobs. He couldn't do it. He couldn't ask his father if he had tortured, or murdered in the name of Lord Voldemort. What if the answer was yes? What if, in the same breath, Lucius stated that as the only son of Voldemort's chief supporter, the same would be expected of him one day?

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He had to find out the truth somehow, alone. His father must not know about his doubts. Wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe, he got to his feet. There was still half an hour before classes, and he stumbled off to the library.

***

The Daily Prophet Archive was housed in a side room off the main library. Over two hundred years' worth of issues were bound in large leather volumes and stacked on shelves that reached from floor to twenty-foot-high ceiling. 

Draco closed the door behind him and scanned the shelves for issues dating from Nineteen Eighty One. He found what he was looking for and staggered to a table under the weight of the massive book. Opening it at random the first thing he saw was a huge headline. 'DARK LORD DEFEATED?', and a picture of a sleeping baby. It took Draco a moment to realise that it was Harry. The picture had obviously been taken before the attack, because he didn't have the scar. 

Draco flipped back to the beginning of the volume. It seemed Voldemort had been particularly active in the spring of that year. 

'Muggle Family Slaughtered! Work of a Death Eater?', Draco read. He had always thought articles like this were written by Muggle-loving reporters, trying to poison the public against Voldemort. He tried reading the article as if it were a faithful, unbiased account of events.

It concerned a Muggle who had unwittingly stumbled upon the magical world. He had walked into the Leaky Cauldron and asked to use something called a payphone. The staff had contacted the Ministry for damage control but an unknown party (allegedly) followed him home. 

By the time the Ministry 'cleaners' arrived, the man was dead. So were his wife, his two children and his dog. A defamatory message had been left at the scene. The article didn't elaborate on that point, but Draco recalled a reference Crabbe had once made to 'Anti-Muggle Calling Cards', and shivered. He'd thought that was just a joke.

He moved on. A picture of a derailed, smashed up train carriage, and a headline screaming 'Dark Lord at Large in London! Thirty-eight Muggles Dead!' Of course, it could have been just an accident…

Flicking through page after page of deaths, disappearances and disasters, Draco finally found something that made him freeze. A picture of his father, striding purposefully into a house which had had its windows and front door blown out. The caption beneath the photograph said 'Ministry Official Lucius Malfoy was first at the scene'.

Draco glanced at the Headline 'Murder at Hogsmeade'. This was about the death of Mick Delaney, the wizard who was rumoured to operate a kind of witness protection scheme for those who were prepared to inform against Voldemort. Of all the mysterious deaths attributed to Voldemort and his supporters, Delaney was the first pureblood.

It was a famous case, and Draco found it odd that his father had never mentioned being involved in the investigation. He frowned suddenly. Lucius had never had anything to do with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or the Department of Magical Catastrophies. His only Ministry connections at the time were with the Department of Magical Transportation. Why would the Ministry have sent him to investigate?

Draco raised his eyes from the page and stared blindly into space. The only reason Lucius would have been sent to the scene was if he happened to be in Hogsmeade already. These events were years before his appointment as a Hogwarts School governor, so why on earth would he have been there?

Draco slammed the book down and leapt to his feet, pacing the room in agitation. It was too much of a coincidence. A suspected anti-Voldemort campaigner dies a violent death in Hogsmeade. Lucius Malfoy, a secret but devout supporter of Voldemort, just happens to be in Hogsmeade at the time...

Draco knew from his modern history classes that the murderer was never caught. There was no useful evidence found at the scene.

'Of course there wasn't,' growled Draco to himself, 'because the killer made sure there wasn't, before anyone else turned up!'

The stuffy room suddenly seemed suffocating, and Draco took a few long, heaving breaths. He flung the window open and rested his head against the frame. He was aware that he was shaking, but whether with anger, grief, or shock he couldn't have said. 

Everything he believed came from his father. The need to restrict places in the best Magical schools to pureblood students, the importance of maintaining the traditional wizarding ways, the plans to keep Muggles and wizards as separate as possible…they all seemed like such noble causes. Goals which could be achieved if enough people of power and influence were to pull together. 

Voldemort had made those goals seem closer than ever, but was this how it was done? With violence and genocide? The stories about Voldemort's reign of terror, which Lucius had taught him to scoff at, were all true!

The wind whipped around the castle walls and ruffled Draco's hair, for once unhindered by copious amounts of styling potion. Behind him the pages of the Daily Prophet fluttered and turned in the breeze. He moved away from the window, struggling to compose himself. He had to pull himself together in time for Transfiguration. Until he knew what to do with this information, he wasn't going to let on that anything had changed.

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he returned to the open volume on the table. The wind had flipped the pages forward a few months. The same photograph of Baby Harry was shown, but this time it was enlarged to nearly fill the front page. Above it in bold black typeface were the words 'The Boy Who Lived!' Draco managed an ironic smile as he murmured 'So that's where it comes from.'

He sat down and watched the moving image for a while, not that there was much movement. Harry was fast asleep, but the gentle rhythm of his breathing was hypnotic and soothing. Every so often a slight breeze would ruffle the unruly tuft of black hair on his head, and he would wrinkle his tiny nose slightly before relaxing again.

It felt strange, seeing Harry without the mark that made him famous. It was as if he was seeing the real Harry for the first time. Not celebrity Harry, not The Boy Who Lived, but just Harry.

He absently traced a finger along baby Harry's face, feeling calmer than he had since before the dream, which seemed like years ago. 'He really did want to kill you, didn't he?' he muttered softly. 'But you didn't let him. That's why people love you. I never understood, I thought it was all a lie…'

Draco gradually became aware that he had to get moving if he was going to get to Transfiguration on time, but as he picked up the book to put it away, his eyes fell once more to the peaceful image of his erstwhile arch-enemy.

'You're just like me,' he said in quiet amazement. 'We both have a destiny we don't want. The only difference is, I can reject mine…'


	6. Chapter 6

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.  
  
Be warned: Later chapters will consist largely of slash fiction, and some will be rated 'R'. If you are under 17 and/or don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.  
  


***

Harry and Ron arrived at Transfiguration to find that Professor McGonagall had prepared a surprise theory test. All the desks had been separated and arranged in rows, so no one could see anyone else's work. Hermione had arrived before them and was fussing excitedly, but the rest of the class looked rather glum.

They took seats next to each other, and Harry looked dolefully at the blank parchment on his desk. Today had looked like it was going to be a good day, but now he wasn't so sure. He had his mind made up for him a moment later when Professor McGonagall addressed the class.

'As you know I do not usually set surprise tests, but I have been unexpectedly called upon to invigilate a seventh year mock exam. I think it would be as well to use the time assessing how much you have absorbed so far on the Theory of Dematerialization. I will leave you in the capable hands of Professor Snape, who has kindly offered to supervise.'

'Oh, it just gets better and better,' muttered Ron. Harry made a face in agreement.

At that moment the door opened and Malfoy swept in. He looked no healthier but he seemed to bear a fierce sort of determination. He met no-one's eyes as he walked to an empty seat behind Harry and sat down without a word.

Snape made no comment about Malfoy's timekeeping, instead glaring at Harry and Ron as he explained that the classroom was equipped with cheating-detector spells.

'Unless you want alarms and flashing lights giving you away I suggest you keep your eyes on your own parchment and don't attempt to use an enchanted quill. You have an hour and a half. Begin now.'

Harry looked down as words began to form on his parchment. 

'_With reference to Magical Energy Units, explain, with diagrams, how you would determine the wand movement required to dematerialise an ice cube_'. 

He sighed with relief. Thanks to his extra tuition from Hermione, he usually had no difficulty with applied Arithmancy in Transfiguration problems. 

He began to write. Gradually it all came back to him and he began to feel more confident. He scribbled faster, struggling to get every thought down before it disappeared out of his head.

'_…(x-y) + (zp)2 = s, where s is the speed of wand movement, x is the length of wand…_' 

Disaster struck. In his enthusiasm Harry pressed too hard and snapped the point off his quill. He managed to hold it over the ink bottle in time to prevent ink gushing out all over his test paper, but he realised with a sinking feeling that he didn't have a spare quill. All his spares were in his bag, and Snape had made everyone banish their bags to the side of the room so that they couldn't sneak a look at their books. 

There was nothing for it, he'd have to ask Snape if he could get another one. Hermione had already put up her hand twice to ask for more paper, so maybe he'd be reasonable. Harry stuck his hand up.

Snape didn't look up from the book he was reading. Harry cleared his throat loudly, but Snape seemed determined to ignore him. 

Harry was just about to risk speaking up when he felt something running up the back of his neck and he nearly leapt out of his seat. He frantically brushed at the back of his neck and his hair, expecting a beetle or spider to drop to the floor. 

As he looked down he caught sight of Malfoy at the desk behind him, watching him with amusement. Harry was just about to retort with a rude gesture when Malfoy reached out and tickled his arm with the end of an elegant swan feather quill. He then held out the quill for Harry to take.

Harry was stunned. He shot a suspicious look at Malfoy, who looked back with a smile. _A smile?!!_ Not a smirk, or a sneer, or even a mischievous grin, but a warm, slightly shy smile.

Harry took the quill tentatively, then glanced back at Malfoy, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Malfoy simply winked, then bent his head to his work. 

Harry turned back to his own desk and stared straight ahead for a moment in bewilderment. He fully expected the quill to explode in his face or set off the anti-cheating spells when he started to use it, but it didn't.

At the end of the class, after Snape had collected the tests and everyone had retrieved their bags, Harry turned to Malfoy to offer him back his quill. He was strangely nervous about performing this simple task. He found himself staring into a pair of gunmetal grey eyes, and felt his stomach flip over. 

'Umm…thanks.' He stuttered, unused to speaking to Malfoy in a civil tone.

'Keep it,' replied Malfoy pleasantly, before swinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the room. He ignored Crabbe and Goyle as they hurried after him.

Harry watched him leave, feeling inexplicably agitated. 

***

At lunch Ron and Hermione were as mystified as Harry was by the phenomenon of Malfoy being helpful. 

Ron was not at all inclined to believe that he had just been in a benevolent mood. 'The quill must be cursed, Harry. At the very least, you probably wrote your whole test in vanishing ink.'

'Well let's see, shall we?' said Hermione. Harry handed her the quill and she performed every revealing spell she knew, but couldn't find anything wrong with it. 'I don't know Ron, it seems to be OK,' she said. 

Ron looked positively disappointed. 'It can't be. Harry_, _you_ know_ him. He never does anything just to be nice. There has to be a catch.'

Harry picked at his shepherd's pie absently. 'I would agree, Ron, but you didn't see him. The look on his face wasn't…I mean it was almost like…' he paused, mashing his potatoes into his gravy.

'Almost like what?' probed Hermione gently.

Harry glanced over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was sitting quietly, ignoring the raucous banter between Pansy and Blaise, who were seated on either side of him. 

'_A peace offering_' he muttered, frowning at his dinner.

There was silence between them for a moment. Then Ron snorted. 'Yeah right, Harry. And this Christmas Snape is going to dress up as Santa and supply mulled wine in all his classes.' 

***

Draco went to bed early, unable to tolerate the rowdy antics of his housemates, when his head was full of noise already. Jumbled memories from his childhood reared up in his head. Snatches of a conversation he had overheard between his father and a 'business associate' played over and over like a scratched record.

'…Muggle Protection Act makes a mockery of every tradition, every principle!' then a few minutes later '…idiot Weasley is a menace to society…' then '…should have disposed of the lot of them when we had the chance!'. Draco had thought Lucius was talking about the stash of illegally cursed jewellery in the basement. Now he wasn't so sure.

Memories of his father's 'business trips' jumped to the front of his mind. One such trip had taken place at the end of his fourth year - his mother had mentioned it when he returned home for the summer. It would have been around the time of the final task in the Triwizard Tournament…around the time of the alleged abduction and attempted murder of Harry Potter, supposedly by the newly resurrected Lord Voldemort. 

The Ministry didn't confirm Voldemort's return until a year later, and if Lucius had known, he never enlightened his son. But Draco was now quite sure that he _had _known, only too well.

Draco's long-suppressed memories of his father suddenly gave way to an image from his first day as a student of magic. On the Hogwarts Express, striding excitedly along the carriages, looking for the one person he had been anxious to meet all his life. 

Confident that as the highest-born student in the school he was the most deserving of Potter's friendship, he had boldly offered his hand, only to have it rejected in favour of a common Weasley. That had hurt him more than he let on. He acted furious. Correction, he _was_ furious, but deep down he felt something else, something he had never felt before. 

That something was doubt. Doubt in the superiority of his own pure blood. If what his father said was true, and his position as heir to one of the most prestigious wizarding estates made him special, then why did the great Harry Potter not want to know him? 

Nobody had ever refused him anything before, and he had stared uncomprehending for a moment into those cool green eyes before turning and leaving without a word.

Evidently high birth meant nothing to Harry Potter. And if Draco was honest with himself, it was starting to mean less and less to him too. This meant that the friendships he had managed to form during his time at Hogwarts, Crabbe…Goyle…Pansy…were meaningless. They only liked him because he was rich and aristocratic, and his parents knew their parents. There was no one in the world who liked him for who he was, and suddenly he was sorry for it.

A picture formed in his head, of Harry standing in the Transfiguration classroom, offering him back his quill with trembling fingers. There had been such confusion in his eyes, which was not surprising really. After spending the last five years trying to make the boy's life a misery Draco himself had almost forgotten that he was a decent person – a gentleman. His mother had seen to that, no matter what misguided lessons his father may have taught him. 

Draco found himself quite concerned about the look of frank astonishment on Harry's face, when all he had done was lend him a pen. It only served to illustrate what a complete bastard he had been to Harry over the years, when he could have been trying to earn his friendship.

He turned over and buried his face in his pillow, remorse added to his stock of new and painful emotions. '_I'm so sorry, Harry'_.

The turmoil of Draco's thoughts kept him awake well into the small hours of the morning. He had no idea how to alleviate the confusion and guilt that came with his feelings. More than anything he was afraid. Would he ever be brave enough to declare his feelings to his father…or to Voldemort? 

With a pang of regret he realised that there was nobody in the world he could talk to about this. His parents were out of the question, of course. His friends would be utterly horrified and would probably disown him. There was no teacher he could trust with something so personal, not even Snape – there was no knowing where _his_ loyalties lay.

He thought back to dinnertime in the Great Hall. Everyone around him had been chattering happily, sharing their stories, their opinions, and their problems with their friends. He had secretly watched as Weasley leaned across the table to confide something to Harry. Something personal, judging by the way the back of his neck had gone red. Harry's expression had changed from curiosity to concern, and then to understanding. He had spoken softly in reply, nodding and smiling encouragingly at Weasley, then he had reached out and patted his friend's shoulder reassuringly.

Draco had flinched with jealousy at that point. But then Granger had arrived, presumably after a late revision session in the library. Both boys had abruptly stopped talking, and Harry made a show of moving up to make room for her, distracting her from their blushing friend.

Draco couldn't have said why the scene had moved him, or why he couldn't stop thinking about it. He just suddenly wished he could have what Ronald Weasley had - someone who would listen, and understand without judging.

Suddenly struck by an impulse he reached for the flask of potion, which he had hidden in his bedside cabinet. Hardly knowing why he thought it would help, he took a swig. Then he lay back to wait for it to take effect.


	7. Chapter 7

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hug to Sean for beta-reading.

This is where it starts to get slashy. For the uninitiated, **this means boys kissing boys**. If you don't like slash, this is not the story for you. Otherwise, please read on.

The 'Pesterus' curse was inspired by the old Spectrum game 'Feud'.

***

This time Harry was ready. He wasn't sure what he was ready for, but he paused before putting his illuminated wand into the tree with a sudden feeling that he might need it. He gripped it tighter as the chanting started, and spun round as the first of the Death Eaters emerged from the forest.

Disarming curses whizzed past him as he dodged and blocked them all. He managed to get three Death Eaters into a Full Body-bind before Voldemort's emaciated form floated ashore. He was working on a fourth by the time Voldemort began his 'You will suffer for my years of torture' speech, and barely heard a word. 

It wasn't until Voldemort screeched '_Tacito,_' that he began to think he might have to admit defeat. The deafness charm didn't prevent him from casting spells, but if he couldn't hear the incantations of the Death Eaters, he couldn't block them. His confidence began to waver, and a tickling charm hit him from behind.

Giggling helplessly, he tried to blast spells off in random directions, but it was impossible to enunciate correctly. His next curse was supposed to summon a torrent of giant, stinging hailstones, but all he managed to produce through his laughter was a shower of buttercups.

The frenzy of activity felt strangely unreal when accompanied by thick silence. Through his rising panic Harry began to wonder if it _was_ real, or just a…

What happened next made him forget to wonder anything at all and he watched in amazement, still giggling fitfully.

A curse had whizzed over his head from behind and hit the Death Eater in front of him, who doubled up in pain as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Harry assumed that it had been meant for him, and that the caster had a very bad aim, but then it happened again. Another cloaked figure bent over with a groan, clutching his stomach, then another. Harry turned and gasped. Draco Malfoy was behind him, blasting off curses at a phenomenal rate. His wand was a blur, and his aim was immaculate. Death Eaters were dropping like flies all around them.

Malfoy paused for long enough to disable the spells on Harry, and noise rushed into his ears, making his head thump. Regaining control of his voice, he aimed his wand at Voldemort and shouted the first spell he could think of.

'_Pesterus_!'

A swarm of angry, chattering sprites poured from his wand and swarmed towards Voldemort like angry bees. Each time he tried to cast a spell or take a step forward they would bite, sting, poke him in the eye or otherwise distract him. Meanwhile Harry stood back to back with Malfoy, and together they made a sort of game out of picking off the remaining Death Eaters. Malfoy continued to use the Appendicitis curse, interspersed with the odd '_Explosius_' hex for effect. Harry used a selection of '_Ambulatus_' spells which forced the Death Eaters to walk calmly into the lake until all that was left of them was a cluster of bubbles at the surface.

Eventually only Voldemort was left, and he had managed to dispose of most of the sprites by swatting and stamping on them. He loomed furiously over the two boys.

Harry felt…well, nothing really. He realised with astonishment that he was not all that scared. He cast a glance at Malfoy, who was now standing by his side and glaring challengingly at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord hissed quietly when he spoke.

'So! The son of Lucius has turned traitor. What a disappointment, you showed such promise. I was certain you shared the beliefs and convictions of my followers.'

'I did!' snarled Malfoy. 'Then I found out just how you go about forcing your beliefs on other people, and I found out the truth about how you intend to keep Muggles away from the wizarding world. Not by improving security measures and changing travel and habitation laws, but by killing every Muggle you can get your hands on! I may have believed they were inferior but I don't think they all deserve to die!'

'Your father thinks so, and he has striven to ensure that you follow his lead. Am I to take it he has failed?'

'If you mean, '_have his attempts to make me into a trainee Death Eater come to nothing?'_ then yes!' spat Malfoy. 

'A great pity,' muttered Voldemort. 'Your father has performed valuable work for me. I was looking forward to seeing what the two of you could achieve together.'

'You will never have that pleasure. I know all about my father's_ valuable_ _work._ I can assure you, if I am a disappointment to you, that is nothing to what my father is to me.'

Harry listened to this exchange in amazement. If ever there were a Death Eater in the making, he would have bet his last Knut it was Malfoy. He couldn't quite take in what was happening. Malfoy had stood next to him, fighting by his side. Now he was standing up to Voldemort and openly rejecting him. Harry's mouth dropped open as he heard Malfoy vehemently denounce his own father, and he turned to look at Voldemort the way one might look at a vat of acid that has just had a lit Filibuster's firework thrown into it.

Voldemort stroked his wand. Almost inaudibly he hissed, 'You are the son of my follower. You know too much to be allowed to live if you are not prepared to join us.'

Malfoy was visibly trembling, but to Harry it looked more like rage than fear. 'I will never join you. You'll have to kill me.'

Voldemort didn't appear the slightest bit put out by this news. He simply raised his wand and began to speak. 'Avada Ke…'

'NO!'

It seemed he had forgotten Harry was there. Startled for a moment he turned his attention to the dark haired boy. 'You have thwarted me for the last time, Harry Potter…' He raised his wand again, this time aiming at Harry. But it was not Voldemort's voice that spoke next; it was Malfoy's.

'_ELECTRIA_!'

A bolt of lightning slammed into the ground with a bang, right where Voldemort was standing. The impossibly bright, blue-white light dazzled Harry, and the force of it knocked him and Malfoy off their feet. A shower of sparks shot out in all directions and a cloud of foul black smoke engulfed them. A few little traces of electrical energy fizzed in the grass where Voldemort had once stood, and now there was just a pile of grey ash. 

Neither boy moved for a moment, but sat and stared at the smoking remains. Then they looked at each other. Harry took in Malfoy's soot-smeared face and dishevelled hair. He was almost unrecognisable, but it was not the general unkemptness that made a difference. There was something about his face, and his posture. The haughty arrogance was gone. Harry blinked and looked again. Maybe it was never there in the first place…

To Harry, Malfoy's pose spoke more of a noble confidence, the kind of self assurance that appears in one who knows that what he is doing is right. Harry felt that he was looking at Malfoy from an angle he had never seen before. It was as though he had suddenly seen the candlestick where there had previously only been two faces staring at each other.

As Harry looked, Malfoy stood up, offering Harry his hand, and this time Harry took it, allowing the Slytherin to help him up.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was suddenly overcome by the urge to laugh. He snorted quietly, trying to suppress it, but eventually he had to give in to it. His shoulders shook, his eyes began to run, and eventually a roar of laughter escaped him. Malfoy stared at him, bemused.

'I believe I just saved your life in a most spectacular fashion, Potter. Would you care to tell me what's so funny?'

Harry couldn't answer. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, crying with mirth. At one point he looked up and pointed at Malfoy before dropping again and quivering helplessly.

'What? Is my sooty face really that funny because let me tell you, you're no picture of cleanliness yourself.'

Harry shook his head and lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes. 'N…no,' he gasped, still shaking a little. He reached up and plucked something from Malfoy's hair, and held it out to him.

'A buttercup?' said Malfoy, horrified. 'You mean to tell me I stood here badmouthing Voldemort with a _buttercup_ in my hair? You could have said!'

He looked at the pile of ashes at their feet, then at the buttercup. Then he looked at Harry who was starting to giggle idiotically again. Harry saw something twitch in Malfoy's face. He smiled expectantly into the deep grey eyes, and sure enough, within moments Draco Malfoy was weak with laughter too. 

****

Draco felt elated, for the first time in …well, _always_. It struck him suddenly that even though he had always been given everything he could possibly want, he had only ever been _satisfied_. Or content, at most. _Happy_ was a new one.

For the first time in his life he had stood up and said no. Refused to be pushed towards a future that had been planned for him, without his permission. Granted, it wasn't real. It was a figment of someone else's imagination, but the point was he had _said 'no_.' And _meant_ it. The fact that this made him happy had to mean something, it had to be right.

He looked at Harry, taking in the brightness of his eyes as he laughed. It was so different from the cold, indifferent stare they had bestowed on him on the train years ago, and suddenly he knew that his decision to change his own future was not the only thing to have cheered him up. 

He straightened up, and with a bit of effort managed to stop laughing. Harry sobered, too, but continued to smile as Draco put an arm around his shoulders and said, 'I think I need a drink. Care to join me?'

The beauty of dreams, of course, is that one minute you can be in one place, and the next you can be in another, and think nothing of it. Your subconscious simply transports you to the place you ought to be.

With a small amount of concentration Draco did just that, and found himself sitting in the beer garden outside The Three Broomsticks with Harry. Two pints of Cauldron Brew stood on the table in front of them, and the rest of the small courtyard was empty of customers.

Harry was first to speak.

'I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, but what the hell was that all about? Why did you help me?'

A hundred possible answers to that question raced to the front of Draco's mind, jostling for attention. 

'I don't suppose you'd believe I just fancied a change?'

'Not for a minute.'

Draco sighed, and took a gulp of his beer. He was tempted to pour out his heart to Harry, but the Gryffindor looked so relaxed and happy. He couldn't bear to darken the mood. Keeping his tone casual he said, 'I don't think we are meant to be enemies. I've had my eyes opened recently and I think I've been backing the wrong horse. You had it right all along, I just couldn't see it. I was trained not to see it.'

Harry gazed at him earnestly, and asked 'So what was it that opened your eyes?'

Draco opened his mouth to answer, then wondered just what the heck he was going to say. _I invaded your subconscious mind using an illegal potion. In fact that's what I'm doing now, just to have someone to talk to…?_

He was pretty sure that wouldn't go down well, even in a dream.

'Umm, actually, do you mind if I don't go into that now…I just found out some things I didn't know; things that you do know. Let's just say I think I get it now, what I should be fighting for, and who I should be fighting against…and it isn't you.'

Harry stared at him. Then he smiled his bright, infectious smile again. 

'Well let's drink to that!' He raised his glass. 'A cease-fire?'

Draco nodded, picking up his pint and clinking it against Harry's. 

'Cheers', he murmured, before taking a deep breath and downing his pint.

Harry followed suit, and they banged down their empty glasses at precisely the same moment. Then they laughed, both aware that their competitive spirits would endure, cease-fire or not.

Harry's features straightened and he looked thoughtful for a moment. 

'You know what?' he said, 'I think I'll miss it – fighting with you, I mean'.

Draco felt his heart warm up at the thought of Harry missing anything about him. Then he suppressed the thought and struggled to respond. 

'Umm, er...well there's always Quidditch,' he pointed out.

Harry visibly brightened. 

'Ah, yes! We may be friends off the pitch, but when that whistle blows, be _very_ afraid…'

Draco grinned stupidly at Harry's confirmation that they were now friends. The one thing he had wanted all his life, and the one thing his parents couldn't buy for him. A little voice in the back of his head pointed out that this still wasn't real – it was a fantasy that he was inventing as he went along, and Harry was only participating unknowingly. A louder voice at the front of his mind reminded him to make the most of it while he could. He ploughed on…

'Of course, if you think you need a certain amount of animosity in your life I could always oblige. As your newest friend I think it only right that I should offer my services as a sparring partner.'

'You mean, if I have a really bad day and need to punch something…'

'I mean, you can try!'

'Well, today has been a pretty bad day,' and Harry playfully punched Draco in the arm.

Draco punched him back with a chuckle.

Harry pushed Draco off the bench, then launched himself at him, and an impromptu wrestling match ensued which both boys found hilarious. Draco managed to immobilise Harry for a moment but Harry was more resourceful than he thought. With the hand that wasn't jammed behind his back in a half nelson, Harry managed to tickle Draco's left side until he let go, laughing and cursing.

Eventually Draco ended up lying flat on his back, with Harry on all fours, pinning him to the floor by his shoulders. Draco knew perfectly well that he could do something really evil with his knee to free himself, but decided he was perfectly happy where he was. He noticed for the first time that Harry's smile was slightly crooked, and made a dimple in his left cheek.

He reflected on how everyone had always told him he was lucky. So lucky, to have Lucius Malfoy as his role model.

'_Walk in your father's footsteps, my boy, and you won't go far wrong,_' his uncle's voice echoed in his head. He had accepted that without question.

Looking up into Harry's smiling, slightly grubby face, he wondered how there could ever have been a doubt in his mind over who was the person he most admired in the world.

Harry interrupted his thoughts. 

'Well, as fights go, that was pretty easy. I think I won that one.'

Draco seized the moment. Raising his arms and placing his hands on Harry's waist he replied; 

'Oh, I don't know…'

Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away as Draco slowly ran his hands up Harry's back. Reaching the back of his neck, he gently pulled Harry towards him, raising his own head off the ground at the same time. He felt Harry's warm breath on his face; they were so close. Draco closed his eyes, and parted his lips expectantly. He ran his hand up into Harry's hair, then…

SLAM!

Draco opened his eyes. He was back in his dorm, alone. His fist closed on empty air.

'Bugger!' he said, emphatically.

***

Harry woke with a shout and promptly fell out of bed. A light came on and he fought to free himself from his tangle of blankets.

'What the hell?' he muttered, panic-stricken.

'Harry! Are you ok? Was it another nightmare?' Ron's pale, freckled face appeared in the lamplight. Harry gaped at him, wondering what his friend would say if he knew what Harry's subconscious had just been doing.

'Umm. Yes! Nightmare. Terrible. Um…'

Ron helped Harry disentangle himself. 

'Shit, Harry, I thought maybe you'd got over them. I mean, last time wasn't so bad…I thought you'd be back to normal. Was it the same as always, or was it a new one?'

Harry paused. _New. Oh God was it new_. 

'Er...much the same, really.'

He scrambled to his feet, clutching his bunched-up blankets in front of him. It wouldn't do for Ron to catch sight of the front of his pyjama bottoms right at this moment - it would be all too obvious that Harry had just had an entirely different sort of dream from what Ron was imagining.

Ron stood and looked at Harry awkwardly. He clearly wanted to help, but didn't have a clue what to do. Suddenly he brightened, and exclaimed; 

'Hermione! I could go and get her. She'll do a relaxation charm or something!'

Harry ignored the churning bewilderment in his head for long enough to smile knowingly. 

'Ron, if you want to go and visit Hermione in the middle of the night, that's up to you. But don't do it on my account.'

Ron blushed. 

'Will you be ok?'

'Of course. Go back to bed,' replied Harry, anxious to be alone with his traitorous mind.

Ron looked doubtful, but obediently took a step towards his own bed. 

'Ok then. Goodnight Harry.'

'Goodnight Ron.' Harry climbed gratefully back into bed.

'If you need anything I'll go and get…'

'Goodnight Ron!'

'Oh. Goodnight, then.'

Harry pulled the curtains shut around his bed and lay back, tense and perplexed; not to mention uncomfortably aroused. _Where the hell did all that come from? _He tried to think of something else. _Neville doing press-ups. Hagrid trying to de-worm Fluffy. Dumbledore clipping his toenails…a pair of fathomless grey eyes gazing at him while their owner stroked his arm with a swan feather quill…_

Aargh!

It was no good; it wasn't going to go away. He couldn't stop his mind from wanderingback to the dream, and what had been about to happen when he woke up. He gave in to the impulse to imagine the feel, the smell, the taste of him. 

__

Oh Hell! He could almost feel those warm, soft hands. Gliding up his back, snaking into his hair and drawing him close. He'd nearly responded, but then…suddenly his mind had started shouting, 'Not real! Not real!' and the dream dissolved.

He tried to bring it back, creating in his mind's eye the image of unkempt platinum hair splayed out over the grass. He stroked a finger over his lips, imagining it was Draco's. He ran the same finger down his chest, wondering how he could never have noticed how appealing that shy half-smile was. He'd always thought it was a smirk – how wrong he had been!

Sharing a dorm with four roommates usually deterred him from indulging in what teenage boys do best. But this was an emergency. He was in pain. He allowed his hand to wander downwards, shivering with delight as his fingers squeezed gently. 

His imagination went berserk. One minute Draco was lying passively on the grass, smiling sweetly and stroking Harry's hair. The next he was on top, kneeling astride Harry and tearing at his robes. Harry stroked faster, picturing Draco shrugging out of his own robes and reaching down to undo Harry's flies.

That was enough. Harry convulsed in blissful release, murmuring a name he had never thought to speak except in anger. Then he drifted into a rapturous sleep, dreaming only the sweetest of dreams.

At the same time, in a dormitory deep in the castle dungeons, another boy gasped with a rush of pleasure, Harry's name escaping his lips with a shuddering breath.


	8. Chapter 8

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hug to Sean for beta-reading.

***

At breakfast Draco found it difficult to speak to anybody. In the space of a few days he had turned his life upside down. Recognising his feelings about his future meant that some day he would have to abandon his family, and his friends. He couldn't bring himself to chat amiably as though everything was the same.

He avoided catching Pansy's eye as she sat down opposite him. He turned away before she could speak…and found himself staring at, and being stared at by Harry Potter. 

Oh yes, that was the other thing. Coming to terms with a complete political about-face and the knowledge that he would be forever distanced from everyone he knew as a result, was a problem. But discovering that the animosity, jealousy and resentment he had always harboured for Harry Potter was rapidly giving way to admiration and growing fascination…well that was a whole different can of worms.

__

As if I didn't have enough to deal with, he thought to himself. At that point he realised that he was still staring, and he looked away abruptly. He had time to notice that Potter had been looking at him with a most peculiar expression. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, just as he had looked that day in Madam Malkin's, the day he had been wrenched from his hitherto mundane existence and discovered a whole new world…

__

Ok, starting to understand exactly how that feels… he mused, redirecting his gaze into his bowl of corn flakes. He tried to pay attention to the buzz of voices around him, anything to distract him from the sight of Potter gazing at him. He caught a thread of conversation between Pansy and Crabbe, and clung to it.

'…he don't feel well. Gone to see Madam Pomfrey. She said he probably been eating too many sweets but I think it's flu or somefin'.'

'Goyle does eat too many sweets, it's a wonder he's still got any teeth. But I have heard there's a bug going round so it can't hurt to get checked over.'

Draco tried to look interested in the discussion about Goyle's troublesome bowel, but his mind was somewhere else entirely when the sound of his name made him snap his attention back to Pansy.

'You ought to go and see Madam Pomfrey, Draco. You don't look healthy, and you're not yourself these days. Maybe you're going down with something'.

'I'm not ill,' he countered defensively. Pansy didn't look convinced. 'I mean, I've had a lot on my mind lately and I don't sleep so well, but once I've got my Potions project finished…'

'Potions assignments have never stressed you out before. Are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You can always talk to us you know, we're your friends.'

Draco tried to smile gratefully, but the expression didn't come naturally. He had to think about each little muscle in his face and mentally tell it to pull.

Pansy continued. 'My parents are having your parents over for dinner this weekend. Would it help if I passed a message on for you? Whatever it is, they might be able to help.'

'No!' snapped Draco, a little bit too vehemently. Pansy looked taken aback.

Absolutely the last thing Draco needed was for his father to get an idea that all was not well with his son. Not until he was ready, if he was ever ready, to come clean. He struggled to recompose himself while Pansy ploughed on.

'Well, I know it can be difficult to talk to your parents about personal stuff, but that's why I thought if it came from me…'

'I don't want to talk to my parents about anything. I don't want you interfering, and there is nothing to tell anyway! Now can we talk about something else please?'

Their end of the table fell silent for a moment. Then Crabbe decided to initiate a new discourse with his customary eloquence.

'Anyone know how to get Flobberworm piss off a pencil case?'

***

Harry was very pleased that he didn't have any lessons with the Slytherins that day. Being around Malfoy made him nervous, and he found it very difficult not to stare at him with a mixture of fascination and horror whenever he was within sight.

Malfoy had caught him staring during breakfast, which had made Harry panic for a moment and drop his toast in his tea. But there had been no disdainful sneer, and no spiteful remark. He had simply turned to Pansy Parkinson and started talking.

Even so, Harry was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to concentrate in class if Malfoy was anywhere near him.

As it turned out, he found it pretty hard to concentrate anyway. There seemed to be some sort of conspiracy to make him think about Malfoy at every possible opportunity. 

In Divination Professor Trelawney announced that they were to continue studying the prophetic power of dreams. She made them all write down one of their recent dreams, then moved around the classroom, helping them to unravel the symbolism. 

Harry had always been quite sure that dreams were just the product of random nerves firing in the sleeping brain, and he hoped against hope that he was right. If his most recent dream actually _meant_ anything, he wasn't quite sure how he would deal with that. Anyway there was no way he was going to let the whole class know about it. So he wrote down one of his earlier Voldemort nightmares, and winced when Professor Trelawney announced that it meant he was about to discover something surprising about himself that would change his life forever

__

Yep, discovering that I can't stop thinking about Malfoy is pretty bloody surprising.

In Defence against the Dark Arts, Professor Gaunt discussed the merits of employing some basic Muggle fighting techniques when up against a dark witch or wizard.

'Most of those who practice dark magic are completely out of touch with the Muggle world, and the last thing they will be expecting is a swift kick or punch...''

Harry's mind returned to a playful punch…then a push…a roll around on the grass…_Argh!_ He forced his mind back to the lesson with some difficulty, but was relieved when the bell signalled the end of the morning's classes.

At lunch he resolutely sat with his back to the Slytherin table, and tried to resist the temptation to look over his shoulder. 

It being Friday, there were no classes in the afternoon. The time was supposed to be set aside for private study, but most students took the opportunity to enjoy a leisurely lunch before setting off to catch up on their homework. 

Hermione launched into her usual spiel, urging Harry and Ron to hurry up with their dessert so that they could get a good table in the library. For once Harry didn't object, and wolfed down his chocolate trifle before grabbing his bag from under the table and heading for the door.

He only half heard Ron's protests (_Why the rush? We've got all weekend to do sodding homework!_), and he completely ignored Hermione's reply (_But you'll end up leaving it all until Sunday night if you don't do it now_), because he had to pass the Slytherin table to get out of the hall. Malfoy was sat almost at the end of the table. He'd have to pass within a few feet of him.

He forced his feet to take a step forward, then another. He paused when Malfoy looked up and met his eyes, his expression unreadable as he took a sip of juice. Harry's eyes involuntarily fell to Malfoy's mouth and he helplessly remembered what those soft, pale lips had looked like close up. He couldn't tear his eyes away, but falteringly he managed to start walking again. Just when he thought he might escape with his sanity, Malfoy _licked his lips_.

Harry fled.

***

Draco was almost tempted to use the potion again that night, but he remembered the warning in _Moste Potente Potions_. Much as he craved the illusion of Harry's friendship, understanding and…(he struggled to admit it)…affection, he didn't want to be responsible for giving him a one-way ticket to a private suite in St Mungo's psychology unit.

So he resisted. 

All weekend he tormented himself with the memory of the last time he visited Harry's dream, and hoped that Harry was catching up on some natural sleep because he wasn't sure how long he could stay away.

Not long at all, as it turned out. 

On Sunday night he sat in the common room, listening to Blaise and Millicent bragging about how accomplished their families were in the dark arts.

'…well, my cousin Silas has written a whole grimoire of original mind-control curses. One of them is almost as effective as Imperius, and my mother says if it's true that the Dark Lord has returned he'd almost certainly want to implement some of the alignment hexes for recruitment purposes….'

'…my brother is working on an infertility curse that can be cast at a distance of up to a mile. If it works it could prevent half-blood scum from ever being born. He'd find that extremely valuable, I think…'

It was all Draco could do to restrain himself. Inside he screamed '_YOU FOOLS! Do you think because your relatives have dabbled in the dark arts your families will be safe? Do you think Voldemort gives a Doxy's toss about amateur hexes and involuntary contraception? Wake up and smell the killing curse!_'

Silently he rose and retired to bed, feeling frustrated and helpless. He knew the truth about Voldemort, and he couldn't tell them. There was only one person who understood, only one person who cared. At least, in the safe, pleasant environment of a dream, he could convince himself that he cared.

His mind made up, he reached for the potion.


	9. Chapter 9

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hug to Sean for beta-reading.

Ok, this is the chapter that all the slash warnings were about. If you are squeamish about the boy/boy thing then READ NO FURTHER! The last thing I want to do is upset anybody.

***

This time Draco arrived in Harry's dream to find the Death Eaters all bound and gagged, and lying in a heap at the edge of the lake. Harry was engaged in a duel with Voldemort. He wasn't winning but he was holding his own, and his use of the _Bilious Maximus_ curse was quite inspired. Draco was rather impressed. However he hadn't come just to watch an entertaining fight, so he stepped up and pointed his own wand at Voldemort.

Harry glanced at him, looked confused for a moment, then smiled and said 'Glad you could make it!'

Voldemort didn't look nearly so pleased. 'So, the treacherous turncoat arrives at last. You will join young Potter in his demise. It is your…'

'Oh, piss off!' interrupted Draco. He flicked his wand and muttered the first nonsense that came into his head. Voldemort began to writhe and scream as Harry's dream bent to Draco's will. Soon, where the Dark Lord had stood, there was just an ugly black cockroach. Harry grinned and squashed it under his shoe with a satisfying 'crunch'.

'Nice work!' he said. 'I didn't know you were so good at Transfiguration'.

Draco shrugged modestly. 

'I'm not really. At least, not in real li…umm. I mean not usually.' He glanced at Harry, but he didn't seem to have noticed the slip. He clearly wasn't aware that this was not real life, otherwise the dream would have ended and Draco would be back in his dorm.

'Well, you did _something_ right!' smiled Harry, casually banishing the helpless Death Eaters to the middle of the lake, then brushing his hands together to signify a job well done.

'You seemed to be coping rather well on your own. I don't think you need my help any more, I just came because I wanted to talk to you.'

Harry looked a little bit taken aback but replied, 'Oh. Well, ok. But let's go inside, it's getting cold.'

Draco realised that with a thought, he could make the storm clouds disappear and turn their surroundings into a bright, sunny paradise. But before he could do so, he found himself walking with Harry along a corridor in the castle.

'We'll go to Gryffindor Tower,' said Harry. Then he paused, looking worried. '…although it might upset a few people if I let you in.'

'Don't worry, there'll be no one else there. It's dinnertime…' Draco pointed out. There was a clock on the wall behind Harry. As Draco spoke the hands whizzed round and round the clock face until they indicated that it was six o'clock.

Harry brightened. 'Oh yes!' He turned to a portrait of a rotund woman in a pink dress. '_Leo laetus_,' he said, and the portrait swung forward to reveal the entrance to his common room. Draco followed Harry inside and looked around at the comfy armchairs, the bright lamps and the colourful tapestries.

'Nice,' he commented, '…a bit loud for my taste, maybe. But cosy, this'll do nicely…'

'For what?' asked Harry, collapsing onto a sofa and kicking off his shoes. He seemed quite relaxed and approachable, so Draco sat down next to him and cleared his throat nervously.

'For talking.' He replied. Harry looked at him blankly. 'I, ah… well, you've probably noticed I no longer support the other side. You know, Voldemort, the Death Eaters…'

'Yes, that did grab my attention somewhat. What brought all of that on? And what did you mean earlier, about me not needing your help any more?'

Draco looked at him in astonishment. _He doesn't remember. Is that how it works, you can't remember a dream, if you're in the middle of another dream?_ He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. How could he explain, without alerting Harry to the fact that none of this was real? He began tentatively, but truthfully.

'Well, my father never told me the truth about how Voldemort operated. To hear him tell it, he was a brilliant, forward-thinking potential leader who would put an end to tension between wizards and Muggles, and improve security, education and the economy in the wizarding world.'

Harry snorted. 'I don't believe you were that naïve. You heard all the stories, you know how terrified people were of him. People don't get that scared for no reason.'

'Believe me, I did wonder about all that. But whenever I had a doubt, my father would quash it. He had an answer for everything. Public hysteria, he called it. Blamed it all on the press. I grew up believing that the Daily Prophet was a conservative paper, which used scare-mongering tactics to keep people from supporting Voldemort. I listened to everything my father said, and did whatever he told me to because I wanted to make him proud. He's a very difficult person to please so it wasn't easy. But all I ever wanted was to be like him.'

'And now what do you want?'

__

Good question.

'I'm still working on that.' He struggled with the whirlpool of new emotions and the painful discoveries of the last few days. 'I suppose I want to not be afraid any more. I used to feel so safe, when my whole future was planned. I was going to graduate, then get a cushy job at the Ministry and help the Dark Lord build a better world for wizards. Then I was going to marry some wealthy witch that my mother chose from the wizards' 'Who's Who?' and raise a litter of little purebloods.

'It's liberating, rejecting all that for freedom. But what the hell do I do now?'

He paused. The words were sticking in his throat and he felt that strange, stinging sensation in his eyes. _Oh, no. I am not going to cry…_he looked away, blinking furiously. He took a deep breath before continuing.

'Everything was fine when I knew my place in the world. I knew who I was and why I was here but now…' he choked on his words. 'I just want someone to tell me what it is I'm supposed to do.'

He felt a hand on his arm and looked back at Harry. He seemed to be struggling to find something to say, but his expression was one of compassion, warmth and…acceptance.

Draco felt a flood of gratitude and relief. A tear escaped before he could stop it.

'I think we'd all like that,' murmured Harry. 'There aren't many people who know exactly what their purpose is in the world, most of us have to make it up as we go along. The best we can do is take it one step at a time, try to do the right thing, and help each other out when it gets difficult.'

Draco felt a smile force its way onto his face. 'You sound like Dumbledore,' he said.

Harry gave a surprised laugh, then feigned an air of nonchalant superiority that reminded Draco of Gilderoy Lockhart. 'What can I say, I taught him everything he knows…'

Draco discovered yet another new emotion: laughter through tears. He liked it. Relaxing a little, he settled against the back of the sofa. 'Is that how it works on the good side? Just muddle through and try not to cock it up?' he asked.

Harry chuckled. 'I'm afraid so. I suppose deep down everyone assumes it'll all turn out alright in the end.' His face straightened, as he appeared to think of something. 'Have you told Dumbledore?' he asked softly.

'No. Why?' sniffed Draco.

'Well, if you're going to support him he should know, shouldn't he? I mean, he must be under the impression that you will follow your father. Dumbledore needs to know who's on his side and who isn't.'

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. 'It never really occurred to me that if I'm not on Voldemort's side I have to be on Dumbledore's.'

Harry gave a short, puzzled laugh. 'Well then whose side are you on?'

Draco glanced down at Harry's hand, which was still gently resting on his arm. Then he looked up into Harry's open, encouraging face.

'Yours.'

Harry was speechless for a moment, and he couldn't look away from Draco's earnest expression.

'I never, ever thought I'd hear _you_ say that,' he eventually replied.

'There's more…' added Draco, trying not to pause for thought in case he lost his nerve.

'More what?' asked Harry.

'More that I have…I mean, I _want_ to tell you.' He took a deep breath as Harry looked at him quizzically. _It's just a dream, Draco. You can tell him anything you want, and in the morning he'll forget all about it, or at least dismiss it as a product of his own subconscious. Go ahead…spit it out…_He coughed nervously. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry. 'Umm, I ah…'

Harry smiled encouragingly. 'What?' he asked softly.

Draco wondered if it was his imagination, or did Harry lean a little closer to him? He gazed into shining green eyes and felt a little dizzy. He tried to find the right words but…_Oh God_, Harry was staring at his mouth.

Something tightened in the pit of his stomach and he began to breathe faster. At that moment he realised that perhaps there were no words for what he wanted to say. He settled for quietly murmuring 'Oh, what the hell…' then he reached for Harry, pulling him close.

Harry didn't object. In fact, he obligingly turned his face towards Draco's.

__

Oh, don't wake up don't wake up don't wake up…thought Draco as he leaned in, closing his eyes. He was perfectly aware that none of this was real, but it felt pretty damn real when Harry's lips pressed gently against his. 

He gradually ceased to care whether it was real or not as Harry put his arms around him and pulled him closer. He responded eagerly, sliding his hands into Harry's hair and slowly stroking Harry's lips with his own. Harry moaned softly and tilted his head back, pressing into Draco's hands.

Draco tenderly played with Harry's hair with one hand, while the other slowly trailed down his neck. Suddenly struck by inspiration, he lowered his head and showered light kisses over Harry's arched neck. 

He felt Harry's fingers flex, clutching at his clothes and digging into his back. He gasped sharply_. This couldn't feel any better if it was real_, he managed to reflect before Harry's hands slid down his back, then back up, under his T-shirt. Warm fingertips stroked his skin, slowly tracing the bumps of his spine, the hollow in the small of his back, and the sensitive, ticklish areas at his sides. He shivered deliciously, then entwined his fingers in Harry's hair and pulled his head forward, desperate for another kiss.

He tried to restrain himself, reluctant to push Harry too far in case he scared him into waking up.

But Harry didn't seem scared. In fact, Harry kissed him so hard he nearly pushed him backwards off the sofa. His heart hammered as Harry adjusted his position so that he was kneeling astride Draco's lap. He timidly reached out and undid the bottom button of Harry's shirt.

Harry smiled shyly, then nuzzled the side of his neck, gently nipping at his ear. Draco managed a few more buttons before Harry distracted him with a firm kiss. This time he parted his lips slightly, and Draco just had time to notice that he tasted of Butterbeer before Harry started stroking his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

'Mmmhm', said Draco.

He felt Harry smile against his mouth. Then he felt Harry gently tease his lips apart with his tongue. He opened his mouth with a sigh, tentatively meeting Harry's tongue with his own. Slowly he sank into a long, thorough exploration, sliding his tongue over Harry's and licking around his lips.

As he fumbled with Harry's half-open shirt and slipped his hands inside he was vaguely aware that if this had been real, it would be as far as he had ever gone, with anyone. But that Christmas party grope with Pansy had been _nothing like_ as good as this…

A little voice in the back of his head helpfully pointed out that if he enjoyed getting off with Harry Potter this much, there was probably a good reason why Pansy didn't do much for him…

He suddenly became aware of Harry's hands again – they had emerged from under his T-shirt while his mind was elsewhere, and were now resting lightly on the front of his jeans. Draco was gripped by a moment of self-consciousness. It must be glaringly obvious to Harry just how much he was enjoying this, and…

'_Oh!_'

Harry chose that moment to very gently apply a little pressure with one hand.

Suddenly it became vitally important to get every part of himself as close to Harry as possible. He frantically pulled at the last of Harry's buttons and yanked the shirt down Harry's back. At the same time Harry took hold of the bottom of Draco's T-shirt and whipped it over his head. As soon as his arms were free he flung them around Harry, gripping his bare shoulder blades and pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace.

Both boys gasped as the new, exquisitely intimate sensation of skin against skin took them by surprise. Draco pressed his face against Harry's neck, licking and sucking hungrily.

Harry shuffled forwards slightly on his knees, until it was impossible to get any closer without breaking a few laws of spatial geometry.

With delight Draco discovered that Harry was just as aroused as he was. He wriggled his hips experimentally, creating a delicious friction. Harry moaned and flung his head back.

Draco licked at the hollow of Harry's throat, and wriggled again.

Harry gave a soft cry and thrust his hips forward. He clutched at Draco's back with one hand, and the back of his head with the other.

Encouraged, Draco ran his hands down Harry's back, and into the gap between his jeans and his boxers. Squeezing gently, he wondered in amazement why it had never occurred to him before to get his hands on Harry Potter's arse. He squeezed harder, at the same time lifting his hips of the sofa and grinding hard against Harry's crotch.

'Ohhhh!' exclaimed Harry loudly.

Suddenly Draco noticed the light fading. The room around him started to dissolve and with a jolt he found himself slammed back onto his bed_. Nooooo! _He thought desperately, burying his face in his hands..._I knew it…I went too far, I woke him up_…

He heard a rustling sound close by and opened his eyes, peering through his fingers. _This isn't right…my bed-hangings are green. These are red…_

He raised himself up on his elbows…and discovered the source of the sound. Harry Potter was taking his jeans off.

_He's still dreaming…but how did we get here? I didn't make this happen…it must have been Harry…_

Draco gave up trying to make sense of Harry's dream world and leapt off the bed, throwing himself at Harry in ecstatic relief. He trembled in his arms as they shared a lingering, ravenous kiss.

Harry pulled away first, breathing fast, his eyes half-closed. He took a few steps back, towards his bed, leading Draco with both hands. He sat down, reaching for Draco's belt, looking up and locking eyes with him as he did so. He tugged at the fastenings and slowly opened the zip, sliding his other hand over the stretched front of Draco's boxers as he did so.

Draco whimpered. He gazed at Harry and wondered if perhaps he'd got it all wrong, maybe _he_ was the one dreaming after all.

He pushed Harry flat on the bed and stretched out next to him, propped up on one elbow and trailing his other hand down Harry's chest as he nuzzled and kissed his way up Harry's neck.

His hand reached Harry's waistband, and he plucked it playfully. It snapped back, making Harry jump and giggle. They stared at each other for a moment, then there was a frantic struggle to remove each other's remaining clothing as quickly as possible. Two pairs of boxers hit the floor in rapid succession, and the two boys rolled over together, arms and legs locked around each other. Draco ended up on top. He looked down to see Harry smile bashfully and draw a sheet over them both. He smiled in amusement at his new lover's coyness.

'What's the matter? Nobody's going to see us…'

'I know, I…just didn't want you to be cold'

'Cold?' he said, incredulously, '_With you?_ Not a chance…'

As if to demonstrate, he trapped Harry's lips in a searing kiss, at the same time grinding down with his pelvis. Harry thrust back eagerly, moaning Draco's name against his mouth. He seized Draco's backside with both hands and pounded hard against him. 

The pressure building between them was making Draco delirious, he had to move or it would be over, all too soon. He rolled onto his back, pulling Harry with him. The change in position resulted in a new, fresh wave of sensation as Harry pushed against him. Every inch of his body quivered, and bursts of pleasure shot through him with every touch. 

'Ahmmm!' he said, as Harry stroked him lightly from his armpits to his hipbones.

'O….Oh!' he said, as Harry firmly flicked over his left nipple with the tip of his tongue.

'…!' he said, as Harry disappeared under the sheet, and he felt the warm, wet softness of Harry's mouth engulf him.

Every nerve seemed to be shooting little lightning bolts into the pit of his stomach. His hands gripped the sheet involuntarily, his toes clenched, every conscious thought and coherent word disappeared out of his head. 

The exquisite tension grew as Harry quickened his pace. Even if Draco had been capable of thinking about vocabulary, he couldn't have found a word for what he was experiencing. Too unbearable to be pleasure, too glorious to be pain…

As his eyes began to defocus, and every muscle fibre began to tense in readiness, a single word formed on his lips – the only word his overloaded brain was capable of registering.

'Harry…'

His heart gave a series of somersaults…

'Harry…oh, _Harry_…' he panted, then finally a great surge of ecstasy and… '_HARRY!_'

He emerged from blissful oblivion, aware only of his own pulse racing in his ears, the rapid gasps of his breathing…and Harry. Wonderful, amazing, _clever_ Harry, appearing from under the sheet. He was flushed and tousled and beaming. Draco had never seen anything so beautiful.

'That was…' He struggled for a moment; _Incredible? Fantastic? Mind-blowing?_ '…perfect' he finished lamely.

__

I may not be able to tell him how that felt…but I can show him, he thought, determinedly.

His body seemed to have sunk into the mattress and his arms and legs felt floppy and heavy, but he managed to reach for Harry and embrace him tenderly before flipping him over and plundering his mouth. Harry writhed beneath him, more aroused than ever, and Draco was suddenly desperate to see how he would react to the same treatment he had just received.

Flinging the sheet up, he dived under it.

He nuzzled his way down Harry's stomach, drinking in his warm, musky scent. Reaching his destination, he licked his lips and closed his eyes. Then he opened his mouth over the smooth, silky skin. Harry whimpered and clutched at Draco's hair with both hands. He thrust his hips forwards and groaned Draco's name before…

…SLAM!


	10. Chapter 10

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.  
  
  


***

Harry woke abruptly, writhing and sweating, and vaguely aware that he had just cried out. The dream was still fresh and vivid in his mind, and he knew what he must have said. He desperately hoped that nobody had heard him.

He lay still, listening for sounds of movement from any of the other four-posters. It was hard to hear anything over the deafening thump of his own heart, so rapid it sounded like a drum-roll. For a moment he thought he had got away with it, but no…

There was a creak of bedsprings, a shuffling sound, then the hangings of his own bed twitched.

__

Oh no, Ron go back to bed, please, he thought frantically. His sheets barely covered him up to the waist, and he was painfully aware that the dampness of his pyjamas was due to more than just sweat. He yanked his covers up to his chin and wiped the perspiration from his face with his sleeve.

At that moment Ron's sleepy ginger head poked between the bed hangings, looking pale and ghostly in the moonlight.

'Y'okay, Harry?' he yawned.

'Yeah. I'm fine,' replied Harry, whispering to hide the fact that he was out of breath.

'Another nightmare, hmm?'

'Yeah. It's okay, Ron. Go back to sleep.'

'Mmm, 'kay.' He turned to go. Harry began to breathe again, but then Ron was back. 'Uh, Harry? Was Malfoy in your nightmare this time?'

'Why do you say that?' said Harry in a very small voice.

Ron looked puzzled for a moment, and yawned again. Then he waved a hand dismissively, saying 'Dunno. Night, Harry'.

Harry waited until he could hear faint snores from Ron's bed, then he waited a few more minutes to be on the safe side. Only then did he get up to have a wash and change his pyjamas.

***

The following week was a tough one for Draco. In classes he could feel Harry's gaze on him but couldn't think of a way to react. He couldn't look back, what if Harry could see in his eyes that he was well aware of what he had been dreaming about? 

He knew that what he ought to do was act normal; hurl a few insults and make snide remarks about Weasley's poverty and Granger's parentage. But he wasn't sure he could do it convincingly now that his heart wasn't in it. Besides it wouldn't feel right after what he and Harry had shared, even if it wasn't real. So he kept his head down and tried to occupy his mind with his work.

In the corridors he went out of his way to avoid the Gryffindor trio, terrified that he might give himself away if he was drawn into an altercation.

At mealtimes he half-heartedly joined in the conversations between his housemates, but clammed up the instant anyone started expressing political opinions or discussing dark magic. At these times he allowed his eyes to wander until they settled on a certain green-eyed Gryffindor. He would stare, fascinated, until the green eyes stared back. Then he would hurriedly look away and start a mundane conversation with Crabbe or Goyle.

Night times were the worst. On Monday night he lay awake thinking about Harry, and how easy it had been to pour out his heart to him. He thought about how right it had felt, lying in Harry's arms. Then he reminded himself that as far as Harry was concerned, none of it had actually happened, and a painful knot formed in his stomach.

He came close to pouring the potion away in the Slytherin boys' bathroom, but stopped himself as the first drops disappeared down the drain. _Just one more time – one more dream and then I'll dispose of it,_ he assured himself.

One more time became two more times, and then three. He began to abandon all thought of throwing the potion away, and accepted that it was too late. He was addicted.

Once he'd accepted that, the situation wasn't so hard to cope with. As long as he allowed Harry _some_ natural sleep he wasn't doing anybody any harm, after all. He couldn't see how he could ever reveal his feelings for Harry in real life, but he could in a dream, and there was no need for Harry ever to know that he was really there.

***

Harry found his recurring nightmare more of a problem than ever, mostly because it wasn't really a nightmare any more. It kept coming back, almost every night, and Voldemort had ceased to appear in it at all.

It usually started with a friendly little chat between himself and Malfoy. Then it would get more friendly, until…

Harry shuddered. He tentatively raised his head and looked across the busy hall, already knowing what he would see.

Sure enough, his gaze met with a pair of expressionless grey eyes, already trained in his direction. They looked away almost immediately, like they always did, but not before Harry felt a jolt in his stomach.

Images from his dream kept popping up in his head at the most inconvenient moments. For example when he was in the library revising Disfiguration curses for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Ron had asked him the best way to defend oneself against the Furnunculus curse. Harry had opened his mouth to say 'block it', but caught sight of Malfoy at that moment and unwittingly said 'blow it' instead (much to Ron's confusion).

There had also been a few very awkward moments during Quidditch training. Harry had discovered that flashbacks of an erotic dream made for rather uncomfortable seating on a broomstick.

Which brought him to his current, most pressing problem. The Slytherin/Gryffindor match, which was due to start in…Harry looked at his watch…forty two minutes.

How he was going to clear his head of…impure thoughts…when Malfoy was in front of him at every turn, he had no idea.

As it turned out, the match was not such an ordeal. Or rather, it was, but it was a very quick ordeal, being over after barely twenty minutes of play.

Harry was hopelessly distracted. The sight of Malfoy smoothly swooping and gliding on his broomstick had never seemed so fascinating. He was so busy watching him that he hardly noticed when the Snitch appeared between them. If it weren't for the fact that Malfoy suddenly started flying straight towards him, he wouldn't have noticed at all.

He made a dash for the Snitch and reached for it at the same time as his opponent. Inevitably, his fingertips just brushed Malfoy's. He reacted oddly – he froze for a moment and nearly fell off his broom. Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed similarly afflicted because he didn't catch the Snitch either. With a little zipping noise, it shot up and out of sight while the two Seekers were still staring at each other in shock.

Slytherin were a hundred and twenty points up, and Harry had just about given up hope when the Snitch made another appearance. By an extraordinary stroke of luck it shot out from behind a Slytherin Beater and almost collided with Harry's foot. All he had to do was perform a quick barrel roll and the little golden ball was fluttering in his hand.

Naturally the whole of Gryffindor House were full of praise for their champion, but Harry had no doubt that it was only pure luck that had handed him the match. If Malfoy hadn't been as distracted as he was…

__

Why, though? he thought to himself, as he got ready for bed that evening. _Why should Malfoy have been distracted? And why has he not been his spiteful, obnoxious self lately? And why does he keep LOOKING at me_?

Harry climbed into bed and closed his eyes, trying to push thoughts of Malfoy out of his head and go to sleep.

__

It's almost as if he knows… he thought as he yawned and snuggled into his blankets.

…_he knows_… echoed his brain, as he settled comfortably on his back.

…_he KNOWS!_ Harry sat bolt upright. He ran a hand through his hair in bewilderment. 'The bastard's _cursed_ me!' he muttered out loud.

***

Draco waited until his dorm mates were asleep before getting ready for bed. The idea of them finding his body while he was on one of his 'visits' was unthinkable. The last few trips to Harry's subconscious had yielded a strange result. He had been somewhat shocked to discover that his body reacted to Harry's dream as if it were his own. Returning to himself after enjoying the…well, the pleasure of Harry's company…was enough of a nasty shock to the system without finding himself in a damp, sticky pair of pyjamas. 

So this time he decided to be prepared, and that meant ensuring absolute privacy. He cast a soundproofing spell on his hangings; uncertain what embarrassing moans and cries his body might emit in his absence. Then he lined up the _Somnio Salvus_ potion, a clean towel, and a travel pack of Wizard Wipes on his bedside table. Feeling slightly silly, he took off his clothes and stretched out on his back. 

Just before taking the potion, he pulled the curtains tightly shut and muttered a basic privacy spell; the only one he knew. It would prevent anyone entering by mistake (as Goyle had done on occasion, after sleepy visits to the bathroom), but was ineffective against anyone who was deliberately looking for him.

__

But who would be deliberately looking for me at this time of night…? he reassured himself.

***

Harry Potter was incensed. He leapt out of bed and paced the dorm angrily.

__

I might have known. The slimy git has found a way to mess with my head. He's just been piling on the pressure, hoping I'll snap…all this time he's been watching me, waiting for the right moment to tear me down. Harry winced as he pictured the scene – Malfoy cornering him in a crowded corridor, or even the Great Hall. He could almost hear the drawling voice: _Potter! You've been having dirty dreams about me? How sweet!_

Harry grimaced with anger and frustration at his own stupidity. There was something else though – a sort of hollow pain below his ribs that he was trying unsuccessfully to ignore. It felt like disappointment.

He pulled himself together and made a decision. He was going to discover exactly what the rotten little toe-rag had done to him, and find out how to counteract it.

He threw his invisibility cloak over his pyjamas and pocketed his wand, then sneaked downstairs and out through the portrait hole. He fumed quietly as he made his way quickly to the dungeons, coming to a stop at the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room. 

At this point he began to realise that he hadn't really thought this plan through. _How the heck was he supposed to get in?_

The entrance to the Slytherins' lair was guarded by a huge portrait of an austere looking couple in Victorian costume. There was no way they would let him in without the password. He was considering blackmailing Mrs Victorian into admitting him (he could threaten to tell Mr Victorian what he'd seen her doing with Sir Cadogan), when he heard footsteps approaching. He shrank back against the wall and prepared to run for it. If Filch had brought his damned cat the game would be up.

But it wasn't Filch. Harry couldn't believe his luck – it was Bruce Plunkett returning to his dorm (after a secret liaison if the smudge of lipstick on his chin was anything to go by). The seventh-year walked straight past Harry and tapped at the portrait, waking up Mr and Mrs Victorian. He muttered, 'Catweazle' (Harry stifled a snigger) and the portrait swung open, allowing Plunkett to disappear through the opening. Harry dashed in after him, a split second before the portrait closed with a click.

It was pitch dark in the common room, and Harry couldn't remember its layout well enough to risk blundering about in the dark. He fumbled for his wand, but didn't use the _Lumos _charm in case it alerted someone to his presence. Instead, he tapped it against his glasses, whispering '_luminovisus_'. The common room came faintly into view, as if a stray moonbeam had suddenly found its way into the dungeon. _A moonbeam that nobody else can see_, he thought with satisfaction, mentally thanking the Weasley twins for telling him about this handy little spell of dubious origin.

He headed for the stairs, realising that this was the second flaw in his plan. He had absolutely no idea where Malfoy slept.

__

'Ah well, if I have to search this god-forsaken hole from top to bottom I will find the miserable little worm_,_' he muttered.

He set off up the stairs and kept going until he reached the top. His own dorm was at the top of Gryffindor tower – maybe the sixth years were housed on the top floor here, too. He opened the door quietly and headed for the nearest four-poster. He twitched the curtains aside to find that he was right – the sixth years _did_ reside on the top floor. But he still wasn't prepared for an eyeful of Millicent Bulstrode's monstrous sleeping form. As Harry stood there in shock at the sight of her in a pink nightdress and rollers, she turned over, burped, and dribbled onto her pillow. Harry made a mental note to forget the image as soon as possible.

He backed out of the room, then dashed along a winding hall with no windows until he came to another door. He stood and stared at it. _What the hell am I doing here_? he thought. _Just say this is the right room, and he's in there. What exactly am I going to say to him_? _And what's to stop Crabbe and Goyle from turning me into burger meat_?

He struggled with potential answers for a while, but couldn't come up with a sensible plan. He began to think about giving up and going back to bed. He was tired, he was getting a headache, and he'd be just as cross with Malfoy in the morning. He could think about what to do then. As he turned away from the door, the more daring half of his brain pointed out that he had come this far – he may as well try to find out _something_.

Without stopping to talk himself out of it, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. It wasn't hard to tell which bed was Malfoy's. There was an expensive-looking mahogany chest at the end of it, with an engraved Malfoy coat-of-arms above the lock. Harry took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bed. His headache was getting worse, pounding away right in the centre of his head. He nearly lost his nerve at the last minute, but he firmly told himself that if Malfoy had left any clues to what he had done to Harry, they would be here.

He grasped his wand firmly and reached for the bed-drapes. He swept them aside…and forgot why he was there, dropping his wand in surprise.

Malfoy was lying motionless on top of his covers, a picture of serene slumber, as naked as the day he was born.

Harry stood rooted to the spot, and his jaw dropped helplessly. Of course, this was a sight he had seen a number of times before, in his dreams. But on those occasions he had usually been too preoccupied to really stand back and _look_.

He did so now. In fact for a short while he was incapable of doing anything else. In the magical moonlight of the visibility spell, Malfoy's creamy white skin glowed with an ethereal beauty that took Harry's breath away. He could have been carved out of marble, if it weren't for the glimmering flecks of fine gold hair that adorned his long legs, and the gentle rise and fall of his flawless chest.

Harry watched, mesmerised, as a slight breeze caught the sleeping boy's hair and lifted a few silvery blond strands off the pillow. He realised that he was holding his breath. Something as crass and vulgar as breathing would surely damage the fragile perfection before him…

Eventually he had to let out a silent, quivering breath, and reality began to return. He remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and reluctantly tore his eyes away from the sleeping boy to take in his surroundings. Aside from the fact that Malfoy was sleeping _au naturel_, he couldn't see anything obviously amiss. There was a strange smell though, which reminded Harry of a liqueur Aunt Petunia always drank at Christmas. He glanced around for the source of the smell, and spotted Malfoy's bedside flask and tumbler, which he picked up and sniffed.

__

Amaretto! he thought with satisfaction as the strong scent jogged his memory_. So! Malfoy's something of an alcoholic, is he?_ Replacing the glass he noticed the pale, purplish pink liquid in the flask. It looked nothing in the world like Amaretto. He picked up the flask and peered into it, swirling the contents gently. The liquid began to froth slightly, as if he had dropped a soluble aspirin into it. Clearly this was no ordinary bedtime drink – Malfoy was taking some kind of potion.

He wondered if an Identification charm would work on it, and bent to retrieve his dropped wand from the bedside rug. As he did so, something protruding slightly from under Malfoy's pillow caught his eye. He carefully lifted the corner of the pillowcase with the tip of his wand, revealing an old leather bound book, which looked slightly familiar. He turned his head sideways to read the faded words on the spine: '_Moste Potente Potions'_.

He wondered if he would be able to ease the book out from under the pillow without rousing the sleeping Slytherin, but ceased to wonder anything at all as his headache suddenly intensified. It got so bad he screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth in pain. It felt like someone had stuck a finger into his brain and was wiggling it about.

He gasped and shook his head, trying to clear it. He replaced Malfoy's flask on the table, but the pain made him a bit careless. He aimed poorly and clinked the flask against the tumbler. It wasn't a loud noise, but Malfoy was apparently a very light sleeper. His eyes flew open.

Harry legged it.


	11. Chapter 11

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing. I wish I owned Draco's breakfast mug, though.   
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

For those who have managed to read this far without noticing, this story is SLASH. If you don't like it, don't read it.  
  


***

Draco went to breakfast late on Sunday morning so that he wouldn't have to talk to anybody. He sat alone at the end of the table and sulkily poured tea into his "Slytherins do it in the Dungeon" mug.

He was tired and bad tempered, because he had been awake for a large part of the night, trying without success to get into Harry's dream. He had done nothing different, and had no idea why it hadn't worked. He had reached the dizzy phase, and the flying phase without difficulty. He had felt the sensation of speeding up, whizzing through the fog towards Harry. Then he had felt a sensation much like flying into a kind of vertical trampoline, and he had bounced back into his body.

He tried again and again, but the more tired he got, the more difficult it was to concentrate. On his final try he was determined that it would work. He decided that when he reached whatever obstacle was preventing his progress, he would try to mentally grab on, if that was possible. He thought it had worked (although it wasn't easy – it was a bit like hanging onto a lamp-post in the middle of a tornado), but then a noise distracted him and he found himself back where he started.

Eventually he gave up, wondering if perhaps the potion was past its best and becoming less effective. He put on his expensive silk pyjamas, sadly resigned to the fact that nothing messy was going to happen to them, and eventually he drifted off to sleep

Now, as he sat in the great hall scowling into his tea, it dawned on him_._

"If they are awake, the conscious mind will fight off the intrusion."

He smacked a hand to his forehead. _Of course! Harry was awake!_ Silly of him, really, to assume that he would be asleep and dreaming whenever it was convenient! He smiled at his own stupidity, with more than a little relief. There was nothing wrong with the potion after all! 

Suddenly finding his appetite, he munched his way through three pieces of toast before strolling back to the common room for a nice snooze in front of the fire.

***

Harry didn't know what to make of what he had discovered. He couldn't help feeling that the previous night's excursion had been a waste of time; after all, what had he really found out? That Millicent Bulstrode wore rollers to bed and Malfoy slept in the nude.

He sat alone in the library, staring blankly at his Astronomy homework. He flicked the glossy pages of the textbook Hermione had lent him, and tried to take an interest in a stunning colour photograph of a nebula. He just couldn't concentrate. He flipped the book shut and frowned at the unmoving picture of the Muggle author on the back cover. He had astonishing eyebrows and a monocle. 

Events from the night before jumped around in his head like grasshoppers in a jar. Harry tried to sort out his thoughts one at a time, wishing he had a Pensieve to do it for him.

__

Ok, the book…what do we know about that?

Harry drew a scrap of parchment towards him and scribbled, ' "Moste Potente Potions"_._ Dangerous book of advanced magic, hidden in Malfoy's bed.'

That was as far as he got with that.

He moved on to the potion. 'Pinky purple, smells of almonds. Malfoy takes it before bed. Possible sleeping draught from the book?'

He scratched his head. Things weren't making much more sense. If Malfoy needed a sleeping draught, why didn't he take one of Madam Pomfrey's instead of brewing his own from a dangerous book?

__

Maybe that is Madam Pomfrey's, and the book is for something else? That was more likely. He wrote it down.

Moving on…to Malfoy's surprisingly light sleep. If he'd taken a medicinal sleeping draught the clinking of glass on glass wouldn't wake him. And why on earth was he lying on top of his covers with no clothes on? Harry paused at this point, unable to think about anything else for a moment or two.

_He couldn't have been too hot; it was freezing in the dungeons, _Harry thought, when his brain started functioning normally again.

Suddenly he remembered a miserable week when he was nine years old. He had caught flu that winter, and Aunt Petunia had sent him to his cupboard with a packet of aspirin and a bottle of Lucozade. He had spent the week shivering with cold one minute, flushed and sweating the next. Every muscle had ached, even his eyelids, and the only comfortable position to lie in was flat on his back. Also, his skin had been so sore and sensitive, he couldn't bear the feel of his clothes rubbing against it.

Harry sat back. Maybe the potion had nothing to do with anything – it was just a flu remedy. He thought back to the day Malfoy had dashed out of the great hall looking like he was going to throw up. _Maybe he's just ill – that would even explain why he's been acting strangely_.

He began to wonder if he'd been mistaken. Perhaps Malfoy was innocent after all. But no, he still didn't have an explanation for the book. There was no legitimate reason for a sixth year student to be reading a restricted book that contained advanced dark magic. It had to have something to do with the change in his dreams… it just _had_ to.

His thoughts were interrupted at that point because Hermione flopped down in a chair opposite him and dumped about eight massive books onto the table. He subtly moved his Astronomy essay over the notes he'd been making then looked up and smiled.

'Astronomy homework?' he asked casually.

'No, Ancient Runes. That reminds me though, when you've finished with "How to be an Astronomer," could you pass it on to Neville? He's having trouble with comets so I said he could borrow it after you.'

'OK, I should be finished soon.'

He managed to write about three lines about the influence of Halley's Comet on the Earth's magical field before his mind wandered back to 'Moste Potente Potions' and its current whereabouts.

What if Malfoy had made a mind-control serum and slipped some to him at some point? Would that enable Malfoy to interfere with his dreams?

No, even if it would, the Slytherin had been noticeably avoiding him for a while. He hadn't been close enough to put anything in his pumpkin juice; that was for sure.

If only he could get his hands on the book again. Then he could find out once and for all if Malfoy had done this…whatever it was…to him.

He decided to have a go at getting hold of it. All he had to do was collect his Invisibility Cloak and go to the Slytherin dorms. He knew the password now, and where the book was. He'd be in and out as quick as a flash.

He started gathering his belongings but stopped when he saw Malfoy enter the library. With a sinking feeling he watched as the Slytherin approached Madam Pince's desk and handed over a large book. Harry recognised the scuffed leather binding and the faint gold text, and flung down his quill in frustration as Madam Pince locked the book away in the bookcase for particularly dangerous tomes. Even with his father's cloak he wouldn't be able to get it now.

Hermione looked at him curiously.

'What's up?' she murmured.

Harry thought quickly. 'Oh, um, nothing. Just can't concentrate.'

'There's nothing much to concentrate on. Just explain how the magical waves emitted by the comet interfere with the natural magical balance, enhancing it in some places and cancelling it out in others. It's all in "Magic and Magnetism". There's not much in there (she waved a hand at the Muggle book), other than the basic descriptions of comets and their orbits.'

Harry grinned at her. 'Do you remember _everything_ you read?'

She smiled sheepishly. 'No. I forgot where I'd heard about Nicholas Flamel that time, didn't I?'

Harry chuckled. He looked at the enormous stack of books in front of her. Then he looked back at Madam Pince's locked bookcase. Then his eyes opened wide as realisation hit him. Hermione had been in possession of 'Moste Potente Potions' for a month in the second year. Hermione being Hermione, she would have taken the opportunity to learn everything she could from it, Dark Magic or not. If anyone could tell him whether Malfoy could have used it to curse him, she could.

He cleared his throat.

'Uh, Herm?'

'Hmm?' She didn't look up from her Rune dictionary.

'Remember when we made the Polyjuice Potion?'

'Yeeees…' She looked up apprehensively. She didn't like being reminded of the time she turned herself half human, half cat. 

'Do you remember any of the other potions from the book it was in?'

'Oh, yes!' she replied, brightening. 'There was Vanishing Lotion, Veritaserum, Milk of Melancholy…hang on, why do you ask?' Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Harry looked around to check for eavesdroppers, but they were alone. He lowered his voice anyway and leaned across the table to whisper, 'I think someone may have used a dark potion on me, to give me…weird dreams.'

Hermione looked concerned. 'Really? You think someone deliberately caused your nightmares?'

'Er…kind of,' he lied. There was no need for her to know the whole truth, after all.

'Who?' asked Hermione, wide eyed.

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione noticed immediately when his eyes flicked across the room to where Malfoy sat, reading a magical research journal. 

'Malfoy?' she asked incredulously. 'I know he's a nasty piece of work but would he have the nerve to…I mean right under Dumbledore's nose? And I know he's Snape's pet but he's not actually _that_ good at Potions. Just the other day I saw him put crushed cockleshells in his Bewilderment potion _before_ he stirred it! That's SO risky…he could have dissolved the whole bench!'

Harry fought to get a word in. 'I don't know for sure if he's done anything. I just wondered if it was possible. I've seen him with 'Moste Potente Potions' and…well, he's been odd lately.'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'I don't know, Harry. There are lots of strange concoctions in that book but I can't remember one for inducing nightmares. Unless…no, that can't be it…'

'What?' asked Harry eagerly.

'Oh it's nothing. I just remembered one that's used to _stop_ nightmares.'

Harry was on the edge of his seat, but he attempted an expression of innocent interest. 'Really? What was that, then?'

Hermione frowned in concentration. 'Uh, I think it was called "Somnio Salvus". It's a mind-invasive potion, for actually _visiting_ another person's dream. I can't remember how it works, but Malfoy can't have slipped you that anyway. You'd notice – it has a really strong taste of burnt almonds.'

Harry fell off his chair.

***

An hour later, Harry was walking aimlessly in the grounds, his mind full of conflicting thoughts and emotions. It had been bad enough trying to accept that he was having erotic dreams about Malfoy. But at least then he could separate the warm, funny, delectable and obviously fictional Malfoy of his dreams from the arrogant, obnoxious, detestable Malfoy of reality.

Except of course just recently he hasn't really been detestable…maybe that should have been a clue…

Anyway the new evidence clearly indicated that the Malfoy in his dreams was the real thing. He hadn't been slipping a potion to Harry; he'd been taking it himself, with startling results.

Harry paused in his tracks and took a deep breath. Just what was he supposed to do with this information?

He couldn't begin to imagine _why_ Malfoy had taken to turning up in his dreams and making them X-rated. _Of course, what I should do is confront him. Tell him I know what he's doing and demand to know why,_ Harry thought to himself angrily. But deep down he knew that he wouldn't. He was too afraid of the possible answers. Knowing what he did about Malfoy, it couldn't be anything good. With a sinking feeling Harry decided that it was too much to hope that the Slytherin was simply trying to find a way to be close to him.

Anyway Malfoy would just deny everything, then make some scathing remarks about the fact that Harry was dreaming about him. 

No, the only thing to do would be to wait until it happened again, and then tell the dirty little interloper to fuck off out of his head.

Decisively, Harry strode back to library. In the meantime he could look up protective measures for keeping Malfoy out of his dreams. There had to be a charm or potion that would counteract _Somnio Salvus_, he just had to find it.

Sure enough, after a brief search he discovered a charm in a research journal on Protective Magic. Known as the Psychic Shield, it was designed to protect the subconscious mind from prying telepaths and clairvoyants. The inventor of the charm – Barnabus Botch – was not exactly renowned for creating effective spells, but it had to be worth a try.

Harry copied down the instructions, then snapped the book shut. That was that, then. He just had to remember to cast the spell at night before going to sleep.

__

Not tonight, though he reminded himself. _I have to let him in one more time just so I can tell him where to go…_

***

Harry lay in his bed that night, staring out of the window and calmly watching clouds drift across a crescent moon. The other beds were empty, and he had no idea where his dorm mates were. He didn't really care, all he knew was that when the moon glowed like that outside the tower window, something good was about to happen.

He sighed contentedly and turned onto his back, peacefully waiting for…whatever it was. The door creaked open and someone stepped into the room, hidden in the shadows. Harry sat up. This was it; this was what he'd been waiting for…

The visitor closed the door and stepped forward into the moonlight. Harry felt his pulse quicken…_Draco!_

Nobody spoke. There was no need, it was as though the invitation had been long ago issued and accepted. Draco smiled and took off his cloak, draping it over a chair as he strode across the room towards Harry. He sat on the bed and reached for Harry's hands with both of his.

A fleeting thought shot through Harry's mind. There was something he was supposed to do…_what was it_?

Too late, it was gone. He tried to bring that thought back, he was sure it was important, but just then Draco started licking the tips of his fingers and he couldn't think about anything at all. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the painfully delicious sensation. Nothing in the world could be important enough to interrupt this…

His eyes snapped open. _But it is important. I have to tell him something…what is it I have to say_?

Draco looked at him quizzically, then put his arms around him, pulling him onto his lap. He wrapped Harry's legs around his waist and then stroked his hair gently. They were nose to nose. Harry could feel Draco's quickened breaths on his face. He decided that whatever it was could wait. There were better things they could be doing with their mouths than talking…


	12. Chapter 12

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.  


This was my favourite chapter to write. Hope you like…  


***

Harry woke with a placid smile on his face, which was a common occurrence these days. Images from his dream played back in his mind, making him blush as he opened his eyes and rubbed them sleepily. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses, knocking everything else on the bedside table to the floor as he did so. 

Eyesight restored, he stooped to retrieve his watch, his wand and a scrap of paper on which was written "The Psychic Shield" and a scrawled incantation. He frowned as he tried to get his sleep-addled brain to register what that was all about.

Not the quickest of thinkers first thing in the morning, he stood up and became vaguely aware that he was going to have to wash out his pyjamas in the sink again today. His spare set wasn't back from the laundry, and these ones seemed to have turned to cardboard around the groin area. Most uncomfortable, but an unavoidable result of another 'Draco Dream'.

Harry grinned to himself as he padded off to the bathroom. He hummed a happy little tune as he locked the door. He burst into song as he turned on the taps and filled the sink. He splashed his face with cool water and shivered with the sudden shock of becoming fully awake. Then he stopped abruptly in the middle of a chorus and gaped at his dripping reflection in the mirror. The previous day's discoveries flooded back and arrived in his mind like waves crashing onto a beach.

__

He's been in my head again. I was supposed to tell him that I know what he's up to. I was supposed to kick him out…

As he absently cleaned his teeth he began to wonder if perhaps his dream self was not able to carry out the will of his waking self. That must be it, otherwise he would have remembered to confront Malfoy in the dream, wouldn't he?

A little voice in the back of his head timidly muttered something about how his dream self _would_ have remembered – _if_ that were what he really wanted. Harry chose to ignore that and spat viciously into the sink.

Wiping his mouth, he weighed up his options. He could confront Malfoy in real life – and be subjected to ridicule and abuse that Dudley Dursley would have been proud of. Or he could simply go ahead with the Psychic Shield charm – that would keep Malfoy out, but then he'd never find out why he'd turned up and fought off the nightmares, and he very much wanted to know that. 

The only other option was to do nothing. Carry on letting Malfoy into his dreams and see how things panned out. After all, the Slytherin was not aware that Harry knew about the _Somnio Salvus_ potion. He could just pretend that everything was fine, and wait and see if he would give anything away.

'Give him enough rope and he'll hang himself_,_' Harry muttered. 

Having successfully justified his chosen course of action, without having to admit that he desperately wanted Draco to keep visiting his dreams, Harry strolled back into the dorm to get dressed.

***

Draco spent the day feeling surprisingly sad. The night's activities had been wonderful, as always. But sitting in Potions, staring at Harry made him realise that his addiction was starting to make him unhappy.

He'd used up half of the potion already. If he carried on like this he'd run out in a matter of weeks and then what? He wasn't sure he could think of another excuse to raid Greenhouse Five. And Madam Pomfrey would be sure to get suspicious if she returned to find her store cupboard unlocked again.

Even if he did manage to make another potion, that too would eventually run out. He realised with a sinking feeling that sooner or later he would have to give it up. Either that or…_no_. _Impossible._ He watched the green-eyed Gryffindor stir his potion, absently scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. Only last night he had kissed that very spot, making Harry shiver and whisper his name.

Draco sighed and returned his eyes to his own work. No way could he ever tell Harry the truth.

***

The library was busy that evening. Nearly all the sixth years were there, working on the Carnivorous Plants assignment for Herbology (except for Hermione, who had finished it weeks ago and was now working on Arithmancy past papers for practice).

Harry and Ron arrived late, because they had run into Peeves in the Transfiguration corridor. Entering the library they were dismayed to note that there were only available seats at a table which was mostly occupied by Slytherins.

They looked at each other and shrugged, then tried to slip into the available chairs as unobtrusively as possible. Harry found himself facing Draco Malfoy. He froze for a moment, then felt himself going red. 

__

Oh why now? Why here…? he thought desperately. He slouched down in his chair and piled his books in front of him so that he could hide behind them. This wasn't easy, as Malfoy had managed to spread his own books and notes out so that they covered almost every inch of tabletop.

The Slytherin didn't acknowledge Harry. He didn't even look up from his work. Harry relaxed a little and opened 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.' He started copying down the dietary habits of _Predatoria varigata_, but soon found his mind wandering.

__

I wonder what plant Malfoy is doing his essay on? It looks like he's written loads already…how does he write so fast but keep his handwriting so neat? Harry's eyes came to rest on Malfoy's quill, mesmerised by the flowing movement. He stared at the pale, long fingers and took in every motion as they progressed across the parchment. 

__

His fingernails are so clean – how has he not got loads of pinesap under them from Potions? And there's not even a smudge of ink on his skin. His skin is so pale…I can see all the little veins in the back of his hand… Harry's train of thought suddenly derailed as he remembered those pale hands tenderly gliding over his own skin.

__

Does he even remember what that hand was doing last night…?

The hand in question suddenly paused and left the parchment. Harry's eyes followed it automatically. He watched, breathless, as Malfoy paused for thought, absently stroking his lips with the feather end of the quill.

Suddenly Malfoy glanced up, locking eyes with Harry for a moment. Harry jumped, then bent his head low over his work and wrote furiously. He could feel his face burning. 

__

Oh, God I hope he didn't see me blush. It's bad enough he saw me gawping at him…I was practically drooling…Oh God!

He was acutely aware that the Slytherin had abruptly thrown himself into his work as well. Stealing a glance over the top of his books, Harry noticed that the handwriting was not half as neat any more. _I guess he does remember…and he knows I do too. But he doesn't know that I know that it wasn't really a dream…_

He tried to compose himself by reading over what he had just written. It was complete gibberish. He screwed up the parchment and spread out a fresh sheet to start again. Something jumped in his stomach as he noticed Malfoy surreptitiously do the same.

__

I'm making him nervous. That's weird…why should he be nervous? He's the one meddling with MY mind.

Harry abandoned trying to write anything coherent, instead attempting to draw a diagram of a _Predatoria_'s digestive system. He put his left elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand as he worked. It wasn't so easy to get distracted by Malfoy in this position. If his eyes wandered he could just stare out of the window. Not that there was much to see – it was getting dark.

He scribbled a few labels on his diagram, then drew a picture of a _Predatoria_ catching a moth with one of its tongues.

Eventually he reluctantly turned his attention back to the essay. It had to be written; there was no point putting it off. He glanced towards the window as he paused to gather his thoughts. Then he stared in amazement. He could clearly see the section of the library they were sitting in, reflected in the glass against the darkening sky. There was Ron; hair messed up where he'd been scratching his head in thought. There was Harry himself, wide-eyed with astonishment…

And there was Malfoy. The quill that had been scratching away feverishly a moment before was now stock still, tightly gripped in his hand. He was breathing rather quickly – Harry could see the rise and fall of his shoulders. The customary poise and carefully guarded countenance were gone. Instead the blond boy was gazing at Harry with an expression that looked like…_desperate longing_?!

Harry's insides did a little dance. Just what the heck was _that_ all about? He turned back to his work and stared, unseeing, at his blank parchment. Could it be that...could it even be _possible_?

He gulped. _Maybe he's not trying to drive me to dementia. Maybe he…likes…being in my dreams. Maybe he…_ Harry tugged at his collar. He was suddenly a bit hot…_wants me_?!

Something that was a combination of a laugh, a shout and a sob grew rapidly inside him and fought its way out. He panicked and quickly disguised it as a cough, but not very well. It sounded like he was choking. Ron helpfully slapped him on the back and he bit his tongue painfully.

__

Great. That must have sounded attractive, he thought, keeping his head down. _I bet if I look up now he's got that disdainful sneer all over his face again_.

Somehow, he didn't really think so. The old Malfoy would have sniggered out loud and said, 'That's right Potter, choke to death on your own tongue and do us all a favour.' But this Malfoy didn't say a word.

He fought to get his racing pulse back under control, but treacherous thoughts kept sneaking into his mind. Thoughts about testing this new theory, for Merlin's sake!

__

What's the worst that could happen, the absolute worst, if I just look up now and…smile at him? He could hardly believe he'd even thought that. _He could SEE me. That's what_!

He took a few deep breaths and straightened up, still looking down at his parchment. He was going to do it. He had to know. There was only one way to find out. He tried to remember how to work the muscles that make a smile, but he felt as though he had someone else's face on. Surely his mouth wasn't normally this dry?

He pressed his lips together, trying to get some feeling back. _I can't believe how difficult this is. Just smile for God's sake!_

He raised his head a little, just enough to see that Malfoy was still looking his way. _Ok. This is it…_his hands were shaking. _Here we go_…He licked his lips.

Malfoy suddenly stood up and started gathering his books and papers, cramming them carelessly into his bag. As quick as a flash, he was gone. Harry didn't have time to react. He was still trying to regain control of his facial muscles when he noticed that Malfoy had left his copy of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.'

***

Draco raced through the corridors until he was a safe distance from the library. He turned a corner and sank against the wall near an open window. He gulped great lungfuls of air in an attempt to cool himself down.

He'd been coping all right. He was getting on with his work, quietly minding his own business. Why did Potter have to turn up and sit there, right in front of him?

__

And he couldn't just sit there quietly, could he? Oh no, he had to fidget and fuss and scrunch up bits of paper so that he couldn't be ignored.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. Every time he'd glanced at Potter it was to find him either looking back at him, or blushing furiously, or both.

Draco rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the image of Harry gazing at him with his mouth open. He had looked flustered and breathless and tousled, just like he did in his dreams when the two of them were…doing what they did. Thinking about that had made it very difficult to concentrate on his essay. In fact it had been difficult to concentrate on anything other than his rapidly increasing state of arousal.

He had shifted uncomfortably in his seat a few times, but he was quite aware that…_it_…wasn't going to go away while Harry was sitting there…_breathing_ at him.

If only he'd kept his eyes down. He just couldn't help it…he'd sneaked another glance, only to catch a glimpse of the Gryffindor undoing his collar button and then _licking his lips_!

That was the point at which it had become necessary to make a sharp exit.

Draco sat down on a stone bench beneath the window and breathed deeply, trying to expel the image from his mind. _Think about something else, anything else_! 

__

Ah! It would be dinner time soon…he was quite hungry. He tried to think about what might be on the menu. Then he tried to think about dessert. It had been a while since the house-elves had made his favourite – vanilla pudding. Maybe tonight was the night? He hoped there would be hot chocolate sauce with it, it was far better than raspberry and…

__

How come all I can think about is Harry Potter licking chocolate sauce off my chest?

It was no good. Something had to be done. He ran for the nearest boy's toilets and prayed there would be nobody else in there. He wasn't at all sure he could take care of this problem quietly.

***

Harry briefly considered the possibility of going after Malfoy to return the book. He picked it up and flipped to the front flyleaf. It had been stamped with the Malfoy family crest, and underneath was written 'Property of Draco Malfoy'. Harry found himself running a finger lightly over the name, before cursing himself and slamming the book shut. As he did so, a piece of parchment fell out and landed in his lap. It was obviously a letter, and therefore private.

He picked it up, abandoning the thought of running after Malfoy. Instead he did what any decent, honest, normal person would do. He looked around to check that he was unobserved, then he read it.


	13. Chapter 13

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

***

The low hum of sleepy voices in the Great Hall was interrupted, as usual, by the flapping of hundreds of wings. The post was early– it had been a dry, calm night and the owls had had easy journeys. All around the Hall, parcels and letters dropped onto the tables as the birds swooped and flapped away. There was a moment's entertainment when a Hufflepuff fourth-year received a Howler for forgetting her grandfather's birthday, and then all was quiet once again.

Draco stared at the thick cream envelope that had landed in his lap. The address was written in elegant, confident handwriting which he would have recognised anywhere. If that hadn't been enough to identify the sender, the wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest would have settled the matter.

He'd been so preoccupied lately, battling with his new feelings for Harry Potter, that he had almost forgotten about the battle still to come; the inevitable conflict which would occur as soon as he announced his change of faith to his father.

Pansy leaned across the table and peered at the letter. "Is that from your father, Draco?" she asked, bright-eyed and blushing. "What does it say? Open it. Does he mention me?"

Draco scowled and turned away from her. There was something decidedly grotesque about his ex-girlfriend having a crush on his father. He broke the seal and tentatively pulled out the letter. Shaking it open, he began to read.

__

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire

23rd October 1996

Dear Draco

I hope you are well and that your studies are progressing satisfactorily. I understand from my acquaintance, Severus Snape, that your work in Potions continues to meet the high standards that are to be expected of a Malfoy. For this you are to be commended.

Unfortunately it has also reached my ears that once again you failed to conquer the Gryffindor team at Quidditch. I felt certain that the extra training you received over the summer would ensure a Slytherin victory. You must be very disappointed. (_He means, "I am very disappointed," _thought Draco bitterly.) 

__

Your mother sends her love. She hopes, as I do, that you will reconsider your decision to remain at school for the Christmas holidays. We have arranged a number of functions at the Manor, and our guests would be disappointed to find you absent. (Draco wrinkled his nose. By "guests" his fathermeant "eligible rich pureblood virgins," there was no doubt about that.)

__

Do continue to invest every effort in your studies. Academic excellence may not be necessary to ensure your comfortable future, as it is for some. But it would not be acceptable to allow any half-blood or Muggle-born students to outperform you.

Look after your health and stay out of trouble,

Your affectionate father,

Lucius Malfoy

PS. Write to your mother soon. She misses you.

Draco continued to stare at the letter with a sinking feeling, long after he had finished reading. It was not the thinly-disguised command to return home for Christmas which disturbed him, it was the seemingly innocuous postscript. His father didn't agree with postscripts; he felt that they were a sign of a poorly organised mind. 

He made his excuses and left the table, returning to his dorm to read the letter again. There was more to it than met the eye, he was sure of that.

Sinking onto his bed, he pulled his wand out from his robes and twirled it between his fingers, frowning. When he was fourteen his father had told him about a spell that his great-grandfather had invented. It was a revealing enchantment, and it had been kept in the family ever since, like a jealously guarded recipe for Christmas cake. The spell would reveal hidden messages, but only if they had been written by another Malfoy. Lucius had made him memorise the incantation, but he had never used it. He had a feeling that he was about to find out what it was for.

Draco tapped the parchment with his wand and whispered the secret spell. For a moment nothing happened, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he'd been mistaken and his father had simply let his letter-writing standards slip. 

He should have known better; after a few seconds the writing began to blur as if the letter had got wet. The ink swirled in little spirals and rippled across the parchment, then gradually coalesced to form new words.

With a sense of dread, Draco began to read.

__

Dear Draco,

If you are reading this, you have successfully recalled the instructions I gave you regarding the enhanced Appareres charm. Well done. I am sure I do not need to remind you to return this letter to its original state, or destroy it, once you have read what I have to say.

The time has come to introduce you to the service of the Dark Lord. Officially you will not be invited to join the distinguished ranks of his supporters until you are eighteen. However an exercise is due to take place shortly in the vicinity of Hogwarts School. As my son you are to receive the special privilege of being allowed to participate. I am sure you will prove to be a useful asset to the operation.

You will forgive me if I do not reveal information about the procedure beyond that which you need to know. For the plan to succeed it is essential that the details remain undisclosed, except to those directly involved.

As I understand it, there is to be a "Hogsmeade Weekend" on Saturday 28th October. I appreciate that for many sixth-year students the novelty of these excursions has, so to speak, "worn off." Therefore your part in the forthcoming operation is to do everything in your power to ensure that Harry Potter visits the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on the aforementioned date. It is imperative that he is there at two o'clock.

I am aware that there is a degree of animosity between you and Mr. Potter, and that for this reason the task will not be easy. If you succeed, the rewards will be great.

Do your best, Son. Make me proud.

Fond regards,

Your father,

Lucius Malfoy

Draco's hand shook and he dropped the letter. He'd had no idea that he would be tested so soon. His head dropped into his hands and he struggled to take in what was being asked of him. Undoubtedly this was to be another attempt to deliver Harry to Voldemort. 

He was sure that the rumours about a previous attempt, during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, were true. Why else would Harry have turned up exhausted and injured, clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory and repeatedly saying, 'He's back'? This much he had seen for himself, from the front row of the stands. It made no difference that his father had chosen not to enlighten him.

Of course, there was no question of what he was going to do. He would do everything in his power to keep Harry away from Hogsmeade at all costs. The consequences would be severe, but he would just have to deal with his father sooner than he had expected.

He toyed with the idea of coming up with some excuse, some _lie_ he could use after making sure Harry was safe, in order to cover his tracks. It wouldn't be too difficult to convince his father that he had tried his best, but that Potter had seen through him.

The idea revolted him. Whatever he may be he was not cowardly. He had never lied to his father before and he wouldn't start now. He had chosen his path and he would walk it, whatever it took.

Taking a deep but shaky breath, Draco got to his feet. The moment had come: The point of no return. He had made his decision to change sides weeks ago, but that decision was easy to make when he knew that he could change his mind at any time. If he acted on his new beliefs there would be no going back. He would have to confront his father and tell him exactly what he had done, and that he was now an enemy of the Dark Lord and his supporters. 

There would be no deception, no duplicity, no snivelling excuses. He would do what Harry would do and, for once, not act like a Slytherin.

He picked up the letter and read it again. "_Make me proud_." He smiled nervously.

__

Oh, Father. If only you knew…

He pocketed the letter without re-encrypting it.

First things first; he would do what he should have done weeks ago; what he should have done the moment he realised that he wanted a different future from that which had been planned for him. 

He would pay a visit to Professor Dumbledore.

***

Harry didn't go to breakfast. He hadn't slept well, and decided to have a lie-in. He wasn't hungry anyway. When the rest of the Gryffindor boys made their sleepy way down to the common room, he pretended to snore softly.

Lying awake and staring straight ahead, his mind went over and over the discovery he had made in the library the previous day. He was beginning to regret reading Draco's letter to his father. _Although it's a good thing I did, or I'd never have found out the truth,_ he told himself firmly. Deep down, though, he couldn't help wishing he was still in the dark. At least when he was unsure about Draco's reasons for invading his dreams, there had been a chance that it was because he had feelings for him. Now there was no doubt that it had only ever been a plan to make him suffer.

He had read and re-read the letter until he could recite it word for word in his head. He had done so for most of the night, until the words got muddled up and lost in his tired brain, and ceased to make any sense. Now there were only the most significant, most painful phrases left.

"_I'll be able to discover secrets about him…"_

"…really make his life hell…"

"Then he'll be sorry…"

Each time the words formed in his head, Harry felt as though he had swallowed a lump of granite. The dreams had seemed so real. He couldn't believe that the tender affection had all been a performance. _Surely Draco wasn't that good an actor?_ And yet there was the proof, in black and white, written by Draco's own hand.

He tried to visualise what would happen if he were to confront Draco with the letter. He liked to think he would probably explode with rage and hex the Slytherin into the stratosphere. But just imagining the cold, steely eyes glaring at him in defiance filled him with dread. There was no way he would be able to hide his pain, when the memory of those same eyes gazing adoringly at him was still fresh in his mind.

He told himself over and over that it could be worse. After all Draco didn't know that he had read the letter. He didn't even know that Harry was aware of the _Somnio Salvus_ potion. Unless Harry instigated it, there would be no need for a confrontation. But that thought didn't stop the hurting.

The fact was, _nobody_ else knew what had been going on, which made it all the more difficult to deal with. He was just going to have to put on a brave face and pretend to be perfectly fine. 

Harry sat up in bed and tried to muster the courage to face the day. As he reached for his glasses his hand touched the scrap of parchment on which he had written the incantation for the Psychic Shield.

With a sinking feeling he realised that the time had come to put the spell into action. He couldn't allow the dreams to continue, not knowing Draco's true motives, and the hopes he'd begun to entertain of events from his dreams coming true were dashed_._

__

And to think…Only yesterday I came so close to hinting to him that that was what I wanted…

He flung himself back down on his pillows and made the most of the dorm being empty. Loud, gasping sobs escaped him as he allowed the tears to flow. There was nobody to see him; nobody to hear. Afterwards he could pretend it hadn't been real. Just like none of this had been real.

***

Draco hovered uncertainly in the corridor outside Professor Dumbledore's office. While prefects where allowed to know the location of the entrance, they were not privy to the password. So Draco paced back and forth in front of the gargoyle that guarded the secret staircase, in the hope that a teacher would pass who might let him in.

He was rewarded a moment later when the sound of voices drifted along the corridor from the direction of the staff room. Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch rounded the corner and headed towards a side-door to the grounds, chatting amiably about an extra-curricular course in broomstick design and construction. Draco coughed loudly to attract their attention. Professor Sprout stopped in her tracks and gave him a puzzled look.

'Shouldn't you be out at the Greenhouses, Mr Malfoy? I believe you are supposed to be in my first class of the day?'

'Yes, Professor. It's just that I have to see Professor Dumbledore urgently. Only I can't get in, and it's really important. I don't know the password.'

'Can't it wait until after class? We have rather a lot to cover today – the _Pythus_ seeds can come out of the acid bath now and that only leaves a two hour window to get them into the ground, you know…'

'Yes, I know, Professor. But it really is important. In fact it's a…umm…a matter of life and death.' He stumbled over the phrase as he realised that it was, in all probability, true.

'I see. Very well, I will let you in. But come straight to Greenhouse Three afterwards. I don't want you missing information that _might_ come up in your mock exam.' She winked as she spoke, but Draco was too distracted to take much notice of the hint.

Professor Sprout stepped up to the Gargoyle and said, 'Jelly Baby'. The entrance opened to reveal the moving staircase. Draco stepped on to it, thanking the Professor and trying to keep calm. He was about to directly disobey his father for the first time in his life, and the thought was making him a little queasy.

He was surprised he wasn't downright sick on the spot, as he reached the top of the stairs. He faced a heavy wooden door, behind which sat the wizard who stood for everything his family despised: The one man whom his father had worked tirelessly to depose.

Draco fought to control his trembling hand as he reached for the door handle. His mind whirled with thoughts of everything he was about to give up; his family, his home, his inheritance…probably even his name. 

Even through all of this, he didn't falter. Harry's face hovered at the front of his mind, reminding him why he was doing this. Nothing could deter him.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the door handle and prepared to change his destiny.


	14. Chapter 14

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.  


***

Draco had never been in Professor Dumbledore's office before. As he opened the door he gaped around him in fascination. Even growing up aware of magic and surrounded by instruments of sorcery couldn't prepare him for the assortment of peculiar gadgets in this room. 

He'd never seen a real, live phoenix before, either; just the stuffed one that his Uncle Judas kept in his study. He stared, mesmerised, as the swan-sized red and gold bird stretched out its wings and trilled a sweet, haunting song. The sound calmed him, and he found himself quite composed when a voice from the other side of the room greeted him.

'What can I do for you, Draco?'

He looked up in surprise. The Headmaster had never directly addressed him before, and he hadn't expected him to use his first name. Not that he minded, in fact he instantly felt even more relaxed. Deep down he'd always been a bit wary of Dumbledore, and he was pleasantly surprised to find him so approachable. The Professor sat behind his massive desk, eyes twinkling over those ridiculous half-moon spectacles, and gestured to Draco to take a seat.

Feeling as if he was about to jump off a tall building, where there may or may not be someone waiting at the bottom to catch him, Draco did so.

Dumbledore rested his elbows on the desk and placed the tips of his fingers lightly together. He smiled encouragingly but didn't speak. Draco realised that he was expected to say something. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and clenched his fists in his lap. Taking a deep breath he managed to stutter, 'I have…umm… I mean there's…'

'I often find,' interrupted Dumbledore, 'that when one is struggling to find the right words it helps to have a nice drink at hand. It occupies the mouth while the brain is otherwise engaged.'

With that he twirled his wand and transfigured a quill into a large mug of Butterbeer. Draco stared at it for a moment, unsure whether transfigured beverages were safe to drink.

'Go ahead, help yourself,' said Dumbledore. Seeing Draco's doubtful expression he added 'Oh, don't worry. I never liked that quill much. Left ink blots all over the place and leaked in the pocket of my favourite dressing gown.'

Draco picked up the mug and sipped tentatively. The warm, fragrant liquid slipped down his throat like nectar. His tongue seemed to untie and he sighed with relief.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Wonderful stuff, Butterbeer. Warms the heart and oils the cogs of the mind.'

'Aren't you having any, Professor?' asked Draco, between mouthfuls.

'Sadly no. I'm afraid it gives me terrible wind.'

Draco snorted, and choked slightly as a drop of Butterbeer went down the wrong way. He put down the mug and wiped his mouth, a new respect for Dumbledore beginning to blossom. It was amazing how quickly the Headmaster had managed to put him at ease. It wasn't hard to see why so many people were prepared to follow him without question.

Without realising that he was ready, Draco began to speak. 

'Professor, there's a plot to attack Harry Potter. This Saturday, at the Three Broomsticks.' He extracted his Father's letter from his robes and turned it over and over in his hands as he talked. 'I don't know what the plan is exactly, but I think they're going to kidnap him.'

'They?' replied Dumbledore, expressionless.

'Dark Wizards…Voldemort's supporters.' Draco gulped. 'Death Eaters.'

'I see.' Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully, but made no further comment. They sat in silence for a few moments before Draco got to his feet impatiently.

'Professor, did you hear me? Harry's in danger!' He thrust the letter in front of Dumbledore's nose. 'If you don't believe me here's proof. They're coming for him at two o'clock on Saturday!'

'I know, Draco.'

'We have to do something! You've got to protect him – he'll listen to y…what do you mean, _you know_?' Draco looked at him incredulously.

Dumbledore sighed and gave him an appraising look, as if he was trying to decide something. Eventually he made a 'sit down' gesture to Draco and frowned slightly before speaking.

'Draco, I'm sure it can come as no surprise to you that I have…assistance…in keeping abreast of Voldemort's movements. I receive reports of planned attempts on Harry's life almost every week. Some turn out to be true, others don't. But all are taken very seriously. I have already been informed of the plot to seize him at the Three Broomsticks, and precautions have been taken to ensure his safety.'

Draco sank back in his chair with relief.

'Are you going to tell Harry?' he asked.

Dumbledore paused. 'Before I answer that, Draco, would you permit me to ask _you_ a question?'

'Of course,' he replied, surprised.

Dumbledore didn't beat around the bush. 'Why do you care what happens to Harry?' he asked, with a shrewd look.

Draco blanched. _He can't know about the dreams, surely_? 'W…what do you mean, Sir?' he stuttered.

'The animosity between you and Harry over the last five years is almost legendary. Also, there is the matter of your parentage – the allegiances of your family are not exactly in Harry's favour. I am simply curious as to your motivation for coming to me today.'

Draco still wasn't sure that Dumbledore wasn't asking him to reveal his feelings for Harry. He tried to buy some more time to collect his thoughts: 'I'm not sure I understand, Professor,' he said weakly.

Dumbledore sighed. 

'I am not completely out of touch with my students, Draco. I have noticed that you have not been yourself lately and it has concerned me. You are not happy. Something has happened to make you decidedly unhappy. You don't have to tell me, of course. But you must understand in these troubled times it is difficult to know whom to trust. If you can be honest with me now, it will be easier for both of us if we are to work together to save Harry. So, if you feel you can tell me, I would very much like to know why you are here. What is it that you want?'

Draco felt a great surge of relief even as his heart began to race in anticipation of what he was about to do. He didn't have to reveal his feelings for Harry at all. However, it was time to declare his decision to change sides.

He had already taken the first step by bringing the letter to Dumbledore. If his father found out about that he'd be disowned anyway – he had nothing to lose. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon_, he thought to himself.

He looked at his own feet and inhaled deeply, ready to say the words that he had gone over in his head but never spoken except in a dream; the words that would suddenly make it real. 

'I'm not sure what I want, but I know what I _don't_ want. I don't want the future that has been planned for me. I don't want to be a Death Eater, and I don't want to turn into my father.' 

It was like letting go of a breath he had been holding for a very, very long time. Now that he'd started, it all flooded out.

'My father lied to me. All the horror stories that he said weren't true…they _were_ true. Not only that, but he was involved. He…did things in Voldemort's name…he even _killed_ for him. And now he's involved in this scheme to get Harry. I know we've not been the best of friends but…' (Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up at the understatement) '…I don't want anything to happen to him. I certainly won't be the one to turn him over to…to _them_.' He spat the last word as though it left a nasty taste.

His voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

'Father doesn't know it yet but I'm never going to take up dark magic. It'll mean giving up my birthright, and possibly never seeing my family again. But I just don't think I can do…what I'd be expected to do if…' he tailed off, breathless. He thought he must have forgotten to breathe between sentences because he felt as though he'd just played a week-long Quidditch match.

He looked up apprehensively. He hadn't thought out what he would say, he'd just said it. Now he wasn't entirely sure exactly _what_ he had said, or whether it was what Dumbledore wanted to hear.

Once again his gaze was met by twinkling blue eyes. He had the impression that those eyes saw a lot more that most. He also suddenly knew, without knowing _how_ he knew, that his Headmaster believed him.

'I am aware of how difficult it must have been for you to make this decision, and to come to me with your father's letter,' said Dumbledore kindly. 'You may rest assured that in return for your courage and honesty, provision will be made for you. The castle is your home for as long as you have need of it.'

Draco's eyes began to prickle. He wasn't sure he could remember the last time someone had treated him kindly when they weren't being paid for it or bullied into it. Tears threatened to overflow, and he looked away with a murmured 'Thank you, Professor.'

Dumbledore tactfully stood and ambled casually over to a window. He looked out at the cloudy sky and said, 'You asked me if I will tell Harry about the abduction plan. The answer is no.'

Draco wiped his face and started to protest but Dumbedore held up a hand and continued.

'I have already arranged to station a large number of experienced Aurors in Hogsmeade on Saturday. If a Dark Wizard so much as sneezes in Harry's direction he'll be in Azkaban before he can say "Apparate!" As it happens, I have observed that Harry rarely bothers to visit Hogsmeade this year in any case. I believe he prefers to spend his Saturdays practising Quidditch. When he does go, he is always back before lunch in order to allow Mr Weasley some…ahem…quality time with Miss Granger.'

Draco smiled inwardly. There obviously wasn't much that escaped Dumbledore's notice. The Headmaster continued.

'So you see, in this case it really doesn't matter if Harry doesn't know about the plan. However he _will_ know…' Dumbledore turned away from the window to bestow another twinkling gaze upon Draco, '…because _you_ are going to tell him.'

Draco's eyes opened wide in panic. 'No! Not me, I can't. How can I…He wouldn't believe me anyway!' he wailed.

Dumbledore shrugged. 'Perhaps not. It wouldn't matter if he didn't, at least not at this stage. However it is important for him to know that you are on his side, otherwise he may be reluctant to accept your help when it _does_ matter. When others may be unable to assist him.'

Draco couldn't think of an answer to that. He couldn't imagine any situation where he would be able to help Harry if nobody else could, but he couldn't bring himself to repay Dumbledore's kindness by arguing with him.

He nodded, slowly and silently. 'Alright. I'll try,' he replied.

Dumbledore smiled and turned to look out of the window again. He glanced down over the grounds with a contented expression. 'Good. Now I believe you have a Herbology lesson to attend. I should hurry if I were you. Professor Sprout seems to be having trouble with the Venomous Tentacula again; it appears to be garrotting your friend Mr Crabbe.'


	15. Chapter 15

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.  


***

Draco muddled through the rest of his classes that day in a daze. Telling the truth to Dumbledore hadn't been nearly as hard as he expected it to be; in fact it had been rather anti-climactic. Now that it was done he felt slightly detached from reality, and wondered if perhaps it hadn't happened at all. After recent events it would hardly have been surprising if he lost the ability to distinguish between reality and dreams.

After morning classes he returned to his dormitory with his father's letter. Before he had left the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore had advised him to re-encrypt it as his father instructed. He had also suggested keeping quiet about his change of faith until it was absolutely necessary to tell his father. Revealing it too soon would only put himself at risk, as well as Harry.

__

And that was another problem…Harry. He, Draco, was to tell Harry about the plan to abduct him. He wasn't sure how to go about that. He and Harry hadn't spoken to each other since the day of the Transfiguration test. He wasn't even sure how to address him any more. In reality, he'd never called him anything but 'Potter', but after the dreams that seemed stupidly hostile.

As he made his way to Charms he agonised over what he was going to say. He had still got no further than what to call him when he spotted the Gryffindor trio heading towards him from the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor. He stopped and doubled back, taking the longer route to the Charms classroom. He needed to have his speech worked out before confronting Harry directly.

Arriving at Professor Flitwick's class, he took a seat at the back, as far from Harry as possible. He took notes on the theory of vocal charms without really taking any of it in - he was too busy wondering how to get Harry on his own. It would be a miracle if Harry listened to him - there was no way Granger and Weasley would.

He was just considering the possibility of cornering him after Quidditch practice when he was startled by the arrival of a small, battered teddy bear on his desk. Finnigan had apparently deposited it there from a large box he was carrying along the row. Draco looked around – everyone seemed to have a bear, or a toy soldier, or in Goyle's case, a 'Magical Mindy' doll.

'What are we supposed to do with these?' he whispered to Blaise, who was taking the clothes off Goyle's doll to see if she was anatomically correct.

'Make them talk,' he muttered. 'Oh, no! Look – she's been sewn into her underwear. Does anyone know a quick severing spell?'

Draco listened to Professor Flitwick for a moment. Apparently when learning to charm objects into talking it was best to start with objects that have faces. It was something to do with it being easier to visualise.

Gradually the class became alive with activity. Wands were swished, incantations were murmured, and before long Granger's bear said, 'I want to be your friend,' in a saccharine tone.

Draco made a face. He prodded his bear with his wand and muttered the spell without much enthusiasm. The bear discharged a stream of profanity, belched loudly, then relapsed into silence. It stubbornly refused to say another word all lesson. Draco sighed. He wasn't having much luck with Charms these days.

***

That evening Draco lurked behind the Quidditch changing rooms after the Gryffindor team practice, waiting for Harry. When he finally emerged, Ron Weasley was with him. Draco shrank back in the shadows and cursed the day they made Weasley the Gryffindor Keeper. He followed at a distance as Harry and Ron made their way back to the castle, but they were clearly on their way back to Gryffindor Tower for the night. 

Draco slunk off to Slytherin, resigned to the fact that he'd have to wait until the next day to speak to Harry.

He stopped in his tracks outside the common room. _What am I thinking?_ He chastised himself silently. _I don't have to wait until tomorrow – I can talk to Harry alone whenever I want. I just have to wait until he's asleep!_

With a new spring in his step, he entered the common room and played a lively game of table Quidditch with Pansy.

***

Harry went to bed early, tired out from Quidditch practice. At least, that was his excuse. He was mostly tired out from pretending everything was fine and normal, and that he hadn't been used and violated by the one person he'd been starting to secretly adore.

He closed his curtains and let out a huge sigh. His face was aching from the fake smile. His throat was sore from forced laughter, and too much talking when he wasn't in the mood for chat. He gulped down some water, then picked up the instructions for the Psychic Shield.

There was no point delaying any longer. This was the only way he'd be able to get over whatever it was that he and Malfoy had shared. Still, it was with a heavy heart that he raised his wand and recited the spell. He hoped he'd pronounced the words correctly – it was hard to tell how they were supposed to be spoken when he'd only seen them written down.

He thought he noticed a faint shimmer in the air around him as he lowered his wand, but he could have imagined it. He certainly didn't feel any different. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stop thinking about it. If it had worked, he would be safe from Malfoy's intrusion. If it hadn't worked (his heart gave a hopeful little skip), well… there was only one way to find out.

He tucked himself under the covers and closed his eyes firmly. _One of these days_, he thought drowsily, _I might just sleep like a normal person_.

***

Draco lay awake, contemplating his idea. If he warned Harry of the attack in a dream, perhaps he would think it was a kind of premonition. He'd probably be more likely to heed the warning than if he told him in person. _It can't fail_, he thought, smiling to himself. 

He took a mouthful of the potion and lay back, confidently navigating the swirling chaos as he had done many times before. He easily summoned a vivid picture of Harry in his mind, and felt himself soaring away, to wherever Harry was. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the floating sensation until…

BANG! Suddenly everything went black. He opened his eyes to see little stars dancing in front of them, and the canopy of his bed seemed to spin alarmingly. He tried to sit up but reconsidered the matter when a splitting headache hit him suddenly with the force of a mallet.

_No, horizontal is definitely better. Now what the hell was that? _He tried to remember what had just happened. He'd failed to get into Harry's dream; that was for sure. But it had been nothing like the way he gently bounced back into his own body when Harry was awake. No, this was more like being hit in the face with a frying pan.

When the room stopped spinning, he tried again. This time he didn't even reach the flying stage. As soon as he saw Harry's face in his mind he felt a searing pain in his head and was hurled violently back into his body. This time he blacked out for a few minutes. 

When he returned to consciousness he was seeing double, and the warm trickle over his cheek suggested that his nose was bleeding. He staggered into the bathroom and squinted into the mirror. He looked as though he'd picked a fight with a troll. _Bleeding nose…painful and possibly broken cheekbone…the beginnings of two magnificent black eyes…how on Earth…?_

He held a wad of toilet paper to his nose and returned to the dorm, where he threw on some clothes. Then he limped off to the hospital wing, hoping Madam Pomfrey would believe that he had fallen out of bed and landed on his face.

***

Harry slept soundly, unaware of Draco's attempts to reach him. There were no nightmares, no dreams of any kind that he would remember. 

As daylight trickled between the curtains and across his bed, he slowly woke. He felt fresh, relaxed and thoroughly lonely. In those few moments between sleeping and fully waking, when he hadn't quite collected his thoughts and filed them in order of priority, all he could think was: _I miss him_. Then he remembered why Draco had been missing from his dream, and he reminded himself to be angry.

In the Great Hall he resolutely sat with his back to the Slytherin table, trying not to wonder if Draco was looking his way.

In lessons he tried to pretend Draco wasn't there, and told himself he was just imagining the feeling of an intense gaze boring into the back of his skull. He had to physically restrain himself from turning to stare back into those shining grey eyes. _Like antique silver_…his treacherous mind observed…_Or mercury. Yes, definitely mercury – and just as poisonous, _he told himself firmly.

That evening in the library he pointedly did _not_ sit at his usual table in the Herbology section because it was too close to Malfoy's table by the window. So he took a seat near the door, at a small table with Seamus and Lavender. But it was hard to avoid Malfoy while he was browsing the shelves, looking for a book on elementary conjuration. 

Every time he rounded a corner, the Slytherin was there. Every time he took a book from a shelf, the gap left between the remaining books would reveal Malfoy standing on the other side. Once or twice he looked as though he was about to speak, but Harry made a conscious effort to ignore him and turn away.

And so it went on. For Harry the next few days were composed of long, melancholy periods of _not_ thinking about Malfoy and _definitely not_ missing him. These were interspersed with short bouts of anger and self-loathing (_How could I be so stupid? Letting him get to me like this – it's exactly what he wants!_), and punctuated by the odd awkward moment, like coming face to face with Malfoy unexpectedly on the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

By the time Saturday arrived, he was emotionally exhausted. He skipped breakfast in favour of a long lie-in, while relishing the thought of a totally Malfoy-free weekend. That was what he needed to sort his head out. _In fact_, he thought with a creeping sense of enthusiasm, _getting out of the castle altogether would probably do me good. Maybe I'll go for a few laps round the Quidditch pitch, and then take a stroll down to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione…_

Lying in his warm bed, with thoughts of flying his Firebolt and a trip to Hogsmeade brightening his tired mind, Harry felt almost back to normal. _Maybe everything will be alright now_…he smiled to himself contentedly and went back to sleep.

***

Draco was anything but content. Ever since his inexplicable failure to warn Harry in a dream about the attack, he had been waiting for the opportunity to talk to him in person. It had never arrived. Time and time again he had tried to engineer situations where he might catch Harry alone: Following him around the library, hanging around the Gryffindor portrait hole, even waiting for him in the Astronomy Tower. But Harry seemed so cold and distant that he always lost his nerve and fled at the last minute.

__

Maybe I am a coward, after all. Maybe I should never have believed that I have the power to change anything. He wallowed pitifully in disgust while he waited outside the Great Hall for Harry to come down to breakfast.

He paced impatiently up and down the entrance hall, pausing occasionally to look up the stairs if he heard footsteps descending. He saw a steady stream of Gryffindors pass him, including Weasley and Granger, but Harry was infuriatingly absent.

An ornate clock on the wall above the front doors began to whirr and grind in preparation for striking the hour. Draco looked up to see a lifelike model of a wizard emerge from a small door next to the clock face. It struck a brass gong nine times with its wand, then retreated behind its door. _Nine o'clock_, thought Draco. _Only five hours to go, and I still haven't warned him. Where the hell is he?_

Looking through the doorway to the Great Hall, Draco could see the Gryffindor table filling up. It seemed everyone was there, except Harry. Most importantly, all the sixth year boys were there except Harry, which gave Draco an idea. 

He turned to the stairs and climbed them two at a time, heading for the portrait of that generously-proportioned woman in pink. Arriving slightly breathless and very nervous, he gave her his most charming smile and said, '_Leo laetus_?' in a hopeful tone.

She eyed him suspiciously, but said 'Correct', and the portrait swung forward, allowing him to enter.

Draco cautiously made his way across the empty common room and up the stairs. Reaching a door marked 'Sixth Years', he paused to gather his thoughts, then entered quietly. 

The curtains were still drawn around Harry's bed, and the sound of soft, rhythmic breathing could be heard coming from within. Draco was amused to find that he felt a bit guilty about sneaking into Harry's room while he was sleeping. It was rather ironic for someone who'd had no qualms about invading the deepest recesses of Harry's subconscious.

Draco tentatively reached out and drew one of the curtains aside. Harry was lying curled on his side, blankets pulled right up to his neck. He looked so serene; a hint of a smile flickered on his face and he sighed contentedly. Draco felt his nervousness and tension leave him – it was as if Harry was surrounded by a little zone of calmness, into which he had stepped. 

As he watched, a draught from the open door wafted across the room. Harry snuggled further under his blankets, muttering something incomprehensible. Then his nose twitched gently and he relaxed again.

Draco instantly recalled the newspaper photograph of Harry as a baby, doing exactly the same thing. He found it so unbearably cute that he let out a short, awed giggle. Then he froze. Harry was frowning slightly and stirring. He felt an impulse to run and hide, but that was what he'd been doing all week. Now, finally, he had the chance to talk to Harry alone, and he wasn't going to lose his nerve again. 

Harry yawned and opened his eyes. He looked blankly at Draco, then he smiled sleepily. He murmured, 'you're back,' then rolled over and stretched thoroughly, grunting with the effort. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. 

Then his expression changed to one of confusion for a moment before he leapt off the bed with a loud, blasphemous exclamation.

He stood on the other side of his bed, staring at Draco in horror. 'What the fuck are you doing here?' he demanded, his voice a few tones higher than usual with panic.

Draco struggled to think of an answer that wouldn't immediately result in his being bodily removed from Gryffindor Tower, in all probability via the window.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I need to tell you something…'

'How did you get in here?'

'I…umm…that's _not_ _the_ _point!_ Listen to me, this is important!'

Harry's face was pale with fury. He picked up the nearest object within reach (a pillow) and flung it at Draco with all his strength. 

'Listen to you? _Listen to you?_ What could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear? What makes you think I'd believe a word you say anyway? You think I don't know what you're doing, but I'm not _stupid_!' He emphasised the last word by hurling another pillow.

'You don't have to believe me, just please _listen_,' pleaded Draco, ducking to avoid more airborne soft furnishings. 

'D'you think you can mess with my head and get away with it? Did you think I wouldn't work it out?' 

A balled-up pair of socks whizzed past Draco's ear. 'W…what do you mean?' asked Draco, as his heart sank into his stomach with dread. _How could he know?_

'I found the letter!' bellowed Harry. He paused in his projectile assault to catch his breath, glaring at Draco with an expression that could have frozen the lake.

Draco was mystified. _How could he have read the letter? The only time it had left his sight, it was encrypted_. 'I…I don't…I mean how…'

'_How?_ I'll tell you how. You left it lying around, that's how! It was tucked inside this…' He threw another missile, this one bigger and heavier than its predecessors. It could have caused some damage if Draco hadn't caught it with a grunt of effort.

He looked down at the object in his hands. It was his copy of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi', which he had thought he'd lost. Suddenly the penny dropped. 

'Ah. _That_ letter,' he sighed.

Harry leapt onto the bed and grabbed his wand from the bedside table. He stood and glared down at Draco, wand raised, positively vibrating with suppressed rage. 

'I know you've been getting into my head while I've been asleep, and I know how you've been doing it. Just so you know, I've found a spell to make sure you can't do it again, so don't even try.'

Draco's eyes opened wide with shock. _He knows. He knows that that was the real me._

Suddenly it was very difficult to breathe. There was a lump in his throat the size of a Bludger. As he stood in silent mortification, his hand flew involuntarily to his recently repaired cheekbone. _So that was why I couldn't…he locked me out of his mind…_He raised his head slowly but he couldn't bring himself to look Harry in the eye.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I admit at first I wanted to…well, my intentions were not exactly honourable…'

'No shit!' replied Harry.

'I never meant to hurt you! It was just a practical joke that went too far. I should have stopped as soon as…as soon as I realised that it wasn't very funny.'

'Why didn't you?' asked Harry. His voice was calmer, more even, but still had a sharp, dangerous edge. Draco held his breath and forced himself to look into Harry's eyes. They were full of anger, and hatred…and pain.

'I couldn't. I tried but…I couldn't,' he whimpered.

'There was nobody twisting your arm, Malfoy.'

'I know, but…Harry, you were there. You know how…how it was.' His voice cracked slightly. He bit his lip to stop it trembling, and dropped his gaze to the book in his hands. He stared at it blindly, unable to take the intensity of Harry's eyes any longer. 

He'd done lots of despicable things to Harry in their time together at Hogwarts, most of them out of spite, anger, jealousy or any number of negative emotions. None of those things had made him feel even a twinge of guilt. This, though - the one thing he had done out of a genuine desire to change, to do some good, _to be like Harry_…made him feel like the lowest form of life on Earth.

Harry's wand was pointing directly at his face, shaking slightly with the force of his fury. 

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hex you into orbit,' he growled.

'Because I came here to save your life,' replied Draco, without a pause.

Harry appeared to think about that for a moment. Then he said 'You've got twenty seconds to explain.'

Draco didn't waste a moment. He launched into a rapid account of his father's letter, recounting the time and place of the planned attack, barely pausing for breath. He ended by begging Harry to stay away from Hogsmeade. 

The Gryffindor's expression didn't change. He thought for a moment before stepping down off the bed and standing right in front of Draco so that he could glare intimidatingly into his face. He jabbed his wand under Draco's chin.

'I don't believe you,' He snapped. 'I think you've got your own nefarious reason for wanting me out of the way today. I think if I don't go to Hogsmeade I will miss out on something.' He paused for a moment and frowned. 'Or maybe you want to make sure I'm here alone. You've got some other foul scheme up your sleeve and you need my friends out of the way to pull it off. Well nice try, Malfoy, but guess what? I'm going to Hogsmeade.'

Draco was ready to cry with frustration. 

'Fine! Go to Hogsmeade. Just _please_ don't go into the pub.' He pleaded with his words, his tone, and with his eyes. 

Harry looked at him coolly then lowered his wand and spat, 'Get out of my sight.'

Draco slowly turned away. As he left the dormitory and descended the stairs, he hoped with all his heart that Dumbledore knew what he was doing.

__


	16. Chapter 16

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.  


***

Harry stared incredulously at the door, which had just slammed shut behind the departing Slytherin. He was still gripping his wand so tightly that his fingernails were digging painfully into his palm, but he hardly noticed.

He flung the wand onto his disarrayed bed and set to work picking pillows and assorted clothes off the floor. The conversation played over and over in his head, but he still didn't know what to make of it - there was too much to take in. 

Draco had confessed to invading his dreams, but he hadn't explained why. _Although he did hint that he just couldn't stay away_, put in that helpful little voice that lived at the back of Harry's head. Then there was all that nonsense about a plot to abduct him. Harry was sure that if that were true, Dumbledore would have told him. _But it wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore kept something important from you, 'for your own good'_, said the little voice.

He sat down impatiently. On balance, he would sooner trust Dumbledore than Malfoy. But his thoughts kept returning to a conversation from a dream, in which Malfoy had openly condemned Voldemort and everything he stood for, before revealing the depth of his feelings for Harry…

His head was starting to hurt with the effort of trying to understand. He got up and changed into his Quidditch robes. His original plan of working off some excess energy on the Quidditch pitch seemed more appealing than ever.

***

Draco returned to his dorm in a state of emotional devastation. If ever he had toyed with the idea of owning up to Harry about the _Somnio Salvus_ potion, that wasn't the way he had wanted the conversation to go. There had been far too many harsh words and flying pillows for his liking.

He couldn't help feeling that he had made matters worse. Harry was determined to go to Hogsmeade now, just to spite him. Perhaps he wouldn't have gone, if he hadn't said anything.

Draco sprawled face down on his bed with a groan of frustration. _Why, oh why didn't I pour that stupid potion away? He might have believed me if he wasn't already furious with me about that…_

He buried his face in his pillow and swore softly into it, several times. Then he turned onto his back and sighed deeply_. He really was furious. He must hate me for what I did…and there I was beginning to think he liked it…_

A picture of an enraged Harry, brandishing his wand like a dagger, appeared in Draco's memory. There had been a moment when he thought he saw a hurt expression flash across Harry's face. It had been right after the explosive rage, and just before the quietly suppressed fury. A tiny flicker of hope softened the guilt that stabbed viciously at Draco's heart. _If Harry feels even a little bit hurt or sad about what had happened, then maybe that's a sign that he did want me in his dreams…for a while at least…_

Draco allowed himself to be comforted by the thought. Then he jumped up and rummaged in his trunk for his cloak. He still had three hours. There had to be something else he could do to save Harry. He didn't share Dumbledore's optimism that the Aurors in Hogsmeade would be able to stop the abduction, and he certainly didn't like the idea of Harry being used as some kind of live bait in order to catch Voldemort. 

__

It's not as if Voldemort would carry out the abduction himself anyway, thought Draco angrily. _It'll be one of his minions…_He suppressed the thought that the category included his father, and busied himself with tying his shoelaces. Then he firmly thrust his wand into his belt and swept out, heading for the main gates.

***

After an hour of careering madly around the Quidditch pitch, Harry felt a lot calmer. He ambled back to the Castle, looking forward to a leisurely soak in the bath. His anger with Malfoy had abated somewhat, but he still couldn't get the morning's conversation out of his mind. He was mystified as to the Slytherin's true agenda, but at least he could think about things clearly now, without wanting to throw furniture. 

As he walked, he caught sight of Malfoy leaving the Castle and striding purposefully towards the main gates. Harry thought it reassuring that he was alone. _If he were really planning something evil for me he'd have those empty-headed sidekicks with him,_ he observed.

It was getting harder to remain convinced that Malfoy was lying. As Harry climbed the stairs to the portrait hole he remembered that desperate, pleading expression on the Slytherin's face just before he'd sent him packing. Malfoy had tried to deceive him many times before, but Harry had never seen him look so…_worried_. 

He had to admit there was a part of him that wanted to believe Malfoy, because if he was telling the truth then that would mean that he did care for him after all. 

He decided that he would go to Hogsmeade, just to prove that he had a mind of his own and could look after himself. But he wouldn't stay long, and he wouldn't go to the Three Broomsticks. If nothing happened, he wouldn't look like a fool for listening to Malfoy. If it turned out that there _was_ an abduction plot, he would still be safe. 

He allowed himself a brief fantasy about apologising to Malfoy for throwing his bedding at him, and thanking him graciously for the warning. He was just getting to the good part when the portrait swung open and Ron and Hermione emerged. They looked a bit tousled and flushed.

'Oh! Harry, we were just coming to find you…' said Ron, blushing. Hermione smiled and smoothed her hair nervously.

'Sure you were,' grinned Harry. 'Are you going to Hogsmeade?'

'Yeah, umm, are you coming with us?'

'I'm going to have a bath first, you go on ahead and I'll meet you somewhere.'

Harry saw a flicker of shy gratitude as Ron smiled.

'We'll be in Madam Puddifoot's,' said Hermione. 'See you there in a bit.'

Harry watched them scurrying away and grinned. He found it adorable that they thought he didn't know about the two of them. Everybody knew! He'd been a bit hurt at first that they hadn't confided in him, but he soon realised that they were just not ready to talk about their relationship. They'd talk when they were ready. 

In the meantime he could just be happy for them, and be as helpful as possible whenever Ron came to him in a panic because he thought he'd done something to upset Hermione.

As he ran his bath, he found himself wishing there was someone he could worry about upsetting. Someone he could hide a secret romance with, and get embarrassed about if anyone came close to guessing. Once again Draco Malfoy jumped into his head and he felt his pulse quicken.

He struggled to push the Slytherin out of his thoughts as he undressed, then lowered himself into the steaming bath. 

He helped himself to some Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, which someone had conveniently left next to the taps. Voldemort's forces of darkness might try to kidnap him but that was no reason why he shouldn't look nice.

***

It was nearly one o'clock when Harry finally made his way along the path that led into Hogsmeade. It was a bright, warm day for October and he was feeling remarkably light-hearted considering that his life was supposedly in danger.

As he approached the busy shopping street, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a girl he didn't recognise running to catch him up. She looked quite young, and definitely wasn't a Gryffindor.

'Hi!' she said brightly. 'You're Harry Potter aren't you? Sorry to bother you, it's my first Hogsmeade weekend and I've managed to lose my friends already. Can you tell me the way to Honeydukes? They said they wanted to go there, that's probably where they are now. I've heard they do really good ice creams. It's quite a warm day isn't it? I really fancy an ice cream…'

The girl stopped talking just long enough for Harry to offer to show her the way to Honeydukes, then she launched into a non-stop stream of chatter that would have sent Colin Creevey running for cover. Harry allowed his mind to wander as they walked, and was only vaguely aware of the girl gabbling away monotonously by his side.

Arriving at Honeydukes, the girl suddenly squealed with delight. 'Ooh! Look, there's a special offer on ice creams. Buy one, get one free! That means I can get one for you, too, for showing me the way…'

Before Harry could tell her that it was quite alright, he didn't really want an ice cream, and he really had to get going, she had dived into the shop. He toyed with the idea of making a run for it while she was occupied. _But what's the rush?_ He pondered_. I can't go to the pub. Ron will be only too grateful for as much time alone with Hermione as possible, and I really haven't got anything better to do. Besides, I'm getting hot. Maybe an ice cream isn't such a bad idea…_

The sun really was quite strong. Harry squinted against the glare, looking up the street to seek out anyone he knew. He spotted Seamus hanging around Angus Quaff's Grog Shoppe (_probably trying to buy Irish Whisky again_, thought Harry) and decided to join him as soon as he'd shaken off the annoying third-year.

The girl appeared after a few minutes, brandishing two large multicoloured ice-cream cones. She thrust one at Harry, prattling on about how she didn't know what flavour he'd like so she got a mixture of everything, and they'd run out of nuts so she got chocolate sprinkles but some people are allergic to nuts so it's a good job really because she never thought to ask…

Harry began to wonder if this girl ever stopped for breath. Ignoring the relentless chatter, he took a mouthful of ice cream. The combination of flavours assaulted his taste buds in a startling manner, but at least the coldness was refreshing.

The girl watched him expectantly. Harry realised she was waiting for him to comment, and murmured, 'Mmm…it's good. Thanks.'

She nodded, satisfied. 'Well, I found my friends – they're all in there, buying fudge. I'd better go before I lose them again. I'll see you around I expect.'

Then she was gone.

***

Harry wandered off in relief. He headed for Quaff's but when he arrived, Seamus had disappeared. Harry looked up and down the street, debating whether it was too early to join Ron and Hermione. He didn't want to interrupt anything, but he was getting bored on his own.

He started walking in the direction of Madam Puddifoot's, which he knew would take him directly past the Three Broomsticks. _As long as I don't go in, it doesn't matter_, he reassured himself, although he felt rather apprehensive as he rounded a corner and the pub came into view ahead of him. 

Madam Rosmerta was outside, putting out tables for customers to sit at and enjoy the Autumn sunshine. The notion of an evil plot taking place within seemed more absurd than ever when she started putting up colourful umbrellas, all adorned with cheerful logos recommending 'Murfin's Magical Mind Melter.'

Harry approached slowly, glancing up at the clock outside the Post Office. It was ten to two. He knew that he probably ought to steer clear of the place altogether, but he couldn't resist taking a peek through the large bay window as he passed. 

The pub was busy, as usual. Students, teachers and villagers packed the bar from wall to wall. After a few moments he laughed at himself, wondering what he had expected. After all, Voldemort would hardly be sitting in the snug, enjoying a pint of mild while he waited.

As he turned to go, something caught his eye in a corner near the door. He peered into the gloom, struggling to make anything out when his eyes were accustomed to the brightness of the street. He could have sworn he'd seen a cloaked figure, lurking in the shadows. _But no, that's ridiculous – there's nobody there._ He snorted and took a mouthful of ice cream. _Malfoy's got me so paranoid I've started seeing Death Eaters in the pub!_

He stepped away from the window and nearly walked into Madam Rosmerta.

'Oh! Harry it's you.' She smiled warmly at him. 'Aren't you coming in? Oh, umm, perhaps not. I mean, it's very busy in there.'

Harry noticed that she seemed a bit nervous and kept looking up at the clock. 

'I can't. I'm going to meet Ron and Hermione.'

Rosmerta nodded and grinned. 'Of course. Well, would you like a Butterbeer to take with you? I'll get you one, wait right there…'

She disappeared into the pub, leaving Harry wondering why everyone seemed so keen to bestow complimentary refreshments on him.

He glanced anxiously at the clock. _Five to two – maybe I ought to get out of here just in case_. He looked around. There was no sign of anything unusual. Students ambled past, chattering happily and inspecting their purchases. A few local wizards sat under one of Rosmerta's umbrellas, smoking long-stemmed pipes and watching the world go by. Nobody approached him, or even looked at him as they passed. 

Harry was suddenly, inexplicably, very scared. He was relieved when Madam Rosmerta re-appeared, carrying his Butterbeer. 

'Here you go, dear,' she said.

Harry would later look back on the events that followed and remember everything in the tiniest detail. Time seemed to slow down as he stepped towards Rosmerta. The sun chose that moment to disappear behind a cloud, and the sounds of chatter from the street faded to a kind of distant hum.

As he reached for the bottle, a black-cloaked figure emerged from the doorway and lunged towards him. Harry turned to Rosmerta for help, and stared at her in bewilderment. Her pleasant, cheery expression had suddenly turned to a horrible, expectant grin. As he watched, her features appeared to shift and alter slightly in front of his eyes. He thought he caught a glimpse of black hair where there was usually bleached blonde, and the wide, sparkly eyes seemed to become dark and heavy-lidded. 

He didn't have time to wonder about what that might mean. As his hand was about to close automatically around the bottle, the mysterious cloaked figure pushed him off his feet and seized it away from him.

He landed painfully on his back, and struggled to get up. His heart hammered in his throat as he tried to make sense of what was going on. He looked up from the ground to see the two figures struggling with each other. Rosmerta was shrieking furiously and trying to force her way towards Harry; the black-cloaked figure had a tight grip on her arm and appeared to be trying to smash the bottle against the wall of the pub.

As the Post Office clock began to whirr and click, Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of a face beneath the hood of the black cloak. The glimmer of familiar silver-grey eyes was unmistakable. The moment the first chime echoed ominously through the village, both Madam Rosmerta and Draco Malfoy vanished into thin air, right before his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

***

Harry sat motionless on the floor, dazed and bewildered as chaos erupted all around him. People flocked from all directions, shouting and gesturing to each other. A curious crowd gathered to stare and gossip.

Harry slowly began to focus on his surroundings. Gradually he realised that there were familiar faces among the wizards surrounding him. He could see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing guard at the door, barking instructions at Tonks. Mad-Eye Moody was prowling among the crowd of onlookers, his magical eye searching the area thoroughly.

Someone walked up to him and stood by his side. He looked up into the concerned face of Remus Lupin.

'Are you alright?' Lupin asked gently, helping Harry to his feet.

Harry nodded, still speechless.

'Let's get you inside, before the Daily Prophet photographers arrive.' 

Harry nodded mutely. He stared around for some clue as to what had happened. His eyes fell on what was left of his ice cream, slowly melting on a paving stone near the spot where Draco had stood, wrestling with Madam Rosmerta.

__

Draco…where…?

Harry didn't have time to wonder what had become of Draco because at that moment Lupin took him firmly by the elbow and marched him away from the curious onlookers. Someone who looked horribly like Rita Skeeter was trying to duck under the warning tape (Keep Clear – Magic of Unknown Origin) which the Aurors had placed around the scene.

As they passed, a Ministry Witch scooped up the remains of Harry's ice cream and placed it in a glass jar. She sealed it with a tamper-proof spell, and stuck a label on it which read 'Evidence'.

Lupin steered Harry towards the door of the pub. Snippets of conversation drifted into earshot as they passed a baffled group of Ministry investigators.

'…But she never showed any symptoms of _Imperius_. She must have been one of them all along…'

'Rosmerta? Never! Her husband was killed by Voldemort – she wouldn't…'

Harry began to piece together what had just happened. He frowned as he remembered the peculiar way that Rosmerta's features had transformed for a moment. That had reminded him of something; _what was it?_ _… _

He froze with shock as it hit him._ The eyes…those awful, hooded eyes._ His head filled with images and memories, swarming together to form a complete, terrible picture. _Names…golden names on a faded tapestry…_He stared in horror at Tonks, who was interviewing witnesses. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. _A tall, pale woman, shrieking with triumph over the death of his godfather…_

'Lestrange…' he murmured weakly.

'What did you say?' asked Lupin, turning to him in surprise.

'It was Bellatrix Lestrange…'

***

Draco's feet hit the ground abruptly, as the feeling of being dragged through the air by his midriff subsided. Disorientated, he lost his balance and toppled sideways along with his companion. They landed in an awkward heap, swearing and struggling to get up.

Eventually Draco managed to roll free of the tangle of robes, and looked up into the furious glare of Madam Rosmerta. She didn't seem pleased to see him.

'You!' she exclaimed, eyes narrowing with fury. 'You fool! What the hell did you do that for?'

Draco was still too amazed at his friendly neighbourhood landlady turning out to be in league with Voldemort to give much of a response. He stood up and straightened his robes, glancing around at his surroundings. 

They stood in a large and lavishly decorated room. Draco had time to take in the expensive looking furniture, the exotic plants in gilded containers and the huge, glittering chandeliers before Rosmerta drew her wand and pointed it at him. Her expression suggested that she was not preparing to conjure up tea and cakes for two.

'You'd better answer me, Draco. I don't think you realise just how much trouble we are in.'

Draco stared at her in surprise. She had always been pleasant to Hogwarts students, but he hadn't realised that she knew his first name. He tried to think of a believable excuse for interfering in the abduction, but it wasn't easy to do with an angry witch pointing a wand at his head. He decided to keep his mouth shut. 

Rosmerta was nervous. Her hand shook slightly as she held her wand, and she kept glancing over her shoulder at the ornately carved double doors. As she turned back to face him, she caught sight of herself in a large mirror with a frame made of golden cherubs. 

'Ugh!' she said, scowling. Then she grimaced with effort, screwing her eyes shut. Draco watched in amazement as she grew about a foot in height. Her curly blonde hair turned black and poker straight, and her round, rosy face became thin and pale with dark, deep-set eyes.

Draco knew her at once. He hadn't met her – at least, not since he was very small – but Malfoy Manor contained a number of portraits of her. _Not to mention Mother's photo albums…_

'Hello, Aunt Bella,' he said, as cheerfully as he could.

***

Lupin took Harry firmly by the arm and led him quickly into the pub. He gestured to him to sit down at a table away from the window, while he made his way to the empty bar and poured a large measure of Firewhisky. He placed it in front of Harry and sat down opposite him, frowning anxiously.

'What just happened, Harry?' he asked suddenly.

Harry looked at him in surprise. He had been planning to ask that question himself, and was somewhat alarmed that Lupin didn't know the answer.

'I, umm… I'm not sure. Madam Rosmerta offered me a drink, but she wasn't really Rosmerta. And the drink was…'

'A Portkey, yes,' said Moody, who had just made his way to their table with his usual ungainly stride. 'All the witnesses say the same thing. Rosmerta was attacked by an unknown third party. They were both gripping the bottle at exactly two o'clock, when they disappeared. There's no doubt, the Portkey was set for two o'clock, and it was intended for you.'

Harry was more than a little bit shocked to find that this information was news to Lupin. He'd assumed that the Order had known about the attack and were all set to prevent it. How had they expected to do that, if they didn't know how it was going to be carried out?

Lupin seemed to read his mind.

'Harry…as you have no doubt worked out for yourself, Dumbledore placed us here today because he received intelligence of an intended attack,' he said. 'But it didn't go the way we had expected. As a result, our mission to protect you very nearly failed…' he tailed off, shaking his head.

Harry took a sip of his drink and coughed as the volatile liquor burned a path down his throat. 

Regaining his voice, he tentatively began to speak. 'What did Dumbledore think was going to happen?' he asked.

Lupin sighed. 'We were expecting Peter. The report we received from…our sources…indicated that he was going to apparate into the pub when it was at its busiest, seize you and disapparate, taking you with him. 

'Of course, we knew it couldn't be as simple as that. We fully expected him to be in disguise, possibly with Polyjuice, so we were prepared to apprehend anyone who apparated in here as soon as they appeared. Even if it seemed to be Cornelius Fudge himself.'

'Harry, what makes you think that Madam Rosmerta was really Bellatrix Lestrange?' Moody asked gruffly.

Harry tried to keep the disturbing image of Rosmerta's mutating features out of his head as he explained. 'I saw her eyes…just for a moment. Her face changed, and then changed back. I've seen that happen before. I've seen it…when Tonks does that thing with her nose.'

Harry stopped talking and stared into his whisky.

Nobody spoke. Harry looked back and forth between Lupin and Moody, waiting for a reaction. None came.

'Tonks told me that she was born a Metamorphmagus,' he explained. 'So it could run in her family…and Bellatrix Lestrange is…'

'Her aunt. Yes, of course, you're quite right,' said Lupin wearily. 'I must confess, the possibility never occurred to any of us. Natural Metamorphmagi are rare, and they tend to be identified early on. It's almost unheard of for one to reach adulthood without anyone finding out they have the ability.'

At that moment, Tonks burst in, knocking a few pint glasses flying as she collided with a table in her haste.

'Harry! Crikey, you were lucky out there. When I think about what could have happened…' She shivered and grimaced, then flung herself onto a chair next to Moody.

'So what do we think?' she asked keenly. 'The bottle was a Portkey, someone Polyjuiced into Rosmerta to get Harry to take it? Pettigrew, maybe?'

Harry, Lupin and Moody looked at each other awkwardly. 

'What?' said Tonks. 'Have you worked something out? Tell me!'

Lupin looked at her warily, then said, 'It's just possible that Bellatrix Lestrange impersonated Rosmerta. But we don't think she used Polyjuice.'

Tonks gave an exclamation of distaste at the mention of Bellatrix. Then she glanced at each of them quizzically. 'What, then? How did she do it?'

Lupin was visibly uncomfortable. 'Well, she may be a Metamorphmagus.'

Tonks was silent for a moment. Then she abruptly leapt to her feet, swearing loudly. She paced back and forth a few times, muttering '_How_ could we not have thought of that?' She smacked a hand to her head, then ran her fingers through her spiky blue hair. 'What's the point of being the elite of the elite if we are so…bloody…stupid?' She punctuated her speech by kicking a table leg on each word. 

She took a few deep breaths, then turned to Harry. 'Did you see her? Did you actually see her face?'

Harry nodded.

'She can't have been concentrating properly if her own face reappeared when she was agitated,' added Tonks thoughtfully. 'Maybe she hasn't always known how to do it. Maybe she only discovered what she was while she was in Azkaban. If so, it's hardly surprising that nobody knew.'

'All this guesswork is getting us nowhere,' said Moody. 'What we need to know is why the abduction failed. Who was it that fought off Lestrange?'

Harry's insides clenched with panic. _Oh, no…_ _Draco! _He struggled to gain control of his voice as his companions discussed the possible identity of the mysterious figure in black.

'I know who it was,' he whispered. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him expectantly. 'It was Draco Malfoy.' Harry ignored the disbelieving snort from Moody and continued. 'He tried to warn me, but I didn't believe him. I mean, I did…but I was angry with him. I didn't pay attention. It's my fault.' He looked up and gazed at the members of the Order, painful guilt and worry rising in his chest. 'He's in danger - we have to find him.'

Doubtful faces looked back at him. Moody began to explain that Portkeys were impossible to trace, but Harry leapt to his feet. 'If you won't help me, I'll do it myself,' he cried. 'There has to be a way!'

Even as he spoke, Harry knew that the odds were not good. He didn't know how to even begin looking for Draco. An awful image sprang into his head – a graveyard, swarming with Death Eaters. But this time it was Draco who was tied to a gravestone, being tortured by Voldemort.

Tears of anger and fear threatened to overflow, and he sat down again, his face in his hands. 'Draco! Oh, no…It's my fault…'

Tonks, Lupin and Moody looked at each other uneasily. Then Lupin glanced at the fireplace, took a handful of Floo Powder from a bag which Moody offered him, then once again took Harry firmly by the elbow.

'Let's get you back to the Castle. I think you'd better have a word with Dumbledore,' he said.

***

Bellatrix Lestrange rounded on Draco. 'Don't think that just because you are the son of my sister I will be lenient with you,' she hissed. 'You have caused an important mission to fail, and the Dark Lord does not tolerate failure. If you refuse to explain to me what you meant by seizing that Portkey, then you will answer to him.'

Draco had no intention of answering to anybody. He met his aunt's glare with a cool gaze, and stuck his chin out defiantly. She lowered her wand and crossed her arms, waiting to see what he would do. He made a show of looking casually around the room, and tried to appear as unimpressed as possible. 

Bellatrix watched with faint amusement as he ambled over to the massive mahogany doors and tried the handle. _Locked…what a surprise. _He drew his wand (Bellatrix made no effort to disarm him) and tried _Alohomora_. When it didn't work he tried _Surripero_, and then – out of desperation – _Explosius_. The doors remained stubbornly intact.

'I wouldn't bother if I were you,' said Bellatrix. 'There are all kinds of security wards in place.'

Draco turned abruptly and aimed a Stupefying charm at her. It fizzled out before it reached her, leaving only a few silvery sparks and wisps of white smoke. He looked at his wand in bewilderment.

Bellatrix gave a short, nasty laugh. 'The Dark Lord takes good care of his loyal supporters, dear nephew. When he casts a shield charm, it takes more than a child's pathetic excuse for a spell to penetrate it.'

Draco didn't reply. Instead he strode across the room to a pair of French windows, which opened onto a balcony. He stepped out and looked around.

_I've been here before_…he realised, taking in the rugged, rocky hills and deep valleys. There were no other buildings in sight, and the landscape bore an eerie, bleak kind of beauty. It was a view he had seen many times as a child.

He turned and examined what he could see of the building. It was big. Looking to his right he could see many more balconies with French windows. 

The architecture was wildly over-the-top. Everywhere he looked there were flying buttresses, Corinthian columns and gargoyles. _Yes,_ _definitely the style of architecture favoured by wizards everywhere_, he thought. 

Without a doubt, Bellatrix's Portkey had delivered him to a wizards' hotel in the Peak District, where he had spent several holidays with his mother when he was little. 

He leaned over the ornate balustrade that surrounded the balcony. He could see the roof of the grand entrance hall far below. The row of international flags fluttering at its edge (including the flag of the International Confederation of Wizards) quelled any doubts he might have harboured. 

He felt a hint of hope – knowing where he was had to be a good start. But the feeling quickly faded as he remembered that the hotel closed during the Autumn and Winter months - there simply wasn't enough business to keep it open all year round. 

There would be nobody to hear shouts for help, and nobody to observe lights in rooms that were supposed to be empty. If Voldemort was using the Penthouse Suite as a hideout, it was fairly safe to assume that any security staff or caretakers would have been disposed of.

He slumped back against the wall with a sigh. It was a very long way down; there would be no escaping this way.

He thanked the departed soul of Merlin that Harry was safe, and wished that he'd forcibly restrained him from going to Hogsmeade. 

Then he wished that he'd had the courage to own up about the _Somnio Salvus_ potion sooner, so that Harry might not have been quite so angry.

__

While I'm at it, why don't I just wish for a broomstick…?

He gripped his wand, useless though it was against Bellatrix, and ventured back inside to face whatever was in store for him.

__


	18. Chapter 18

Draco and Bellatrix stood on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other. Bellatrix strode slowly towards him, tapping her wand menacingly. Draco met her gaze, hoping he looked braver than he felt.

'So, you still won't talk?' she asked coldly.

Draco didn't answer. He kept his expression blank as his aunt moved nearer. Seeing her face more closely, he noticed that behind the furious scowl there was another expression in her eyes altogether. He didn't know whether it was a good thing or not, but Bellatrix was terrified.

'If you tell me why you interfered, I might be able to think of a way to fix this mess,' she said, the panic in her eyes contradicting her calm tone. 'You might even leave this room alive.'

Draco steeled himself - it would not do for her to detect his fear. He resisted the temptation to gabble some made-up story. Instead, he smiled faintly and raised an eyebrow at her.

Bellatrix lost her temper in an explosion of fear and rage. She seized him by the shoulders and shrieked, 'You have no idea what's going to happen to us! You're as good as dead, whatever happens…I'll be executed for failing to deliver Potter…unless…' She thought for a moment. 'Unless I deliver the _reason_ why I failed…then I might just get the Cruciatus…'

She was suddenly interrupted by the metallic sound of two large, iron door handles being turned. She whirled round to face the doors, eyes wide and anxious. She stood rather close to Draco's side as the two massive doors swung inwards with an ominous creak.

The sun, with perfect dramatic timing, dropped below the horizon. The bright, lavish room became gloomy and forbidding as Lord Voldemort entered, blood-red eyes glowing beneath his hood.

***

Professor Dumbledore paced slowly around his office, a grave expression on his weathered face. Harry fidgeted in his seat, waiting impatiently for the Headmaster to say something.

He looked hopefully at Lupin, but he was deep in conversation with Madam Hooch. Tonks stood alone near the window, still looking shell-shocked. Professor McGonagall was whispering earnestly to Professor Snape, and didn't see Harry's worried expression.

While Harry waited, the door banged open and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room. 'Rosmerta's been found!' He announced. 'In the basement of the pub, with a Full Body-bind on her that took three of us to undo. She couldn't remember much – she said she went down there to fetch a bottle of Gillywater and _zap_! She didn't see who did it.'

Dumbledore assimilated this news in silence, as the other Professors and Members of the Order glanced at each other anxiously. Harry sighed inwardly. While the news confirmed his story – that the Rosmerta he had met outside the pub wasn't Rosmerta at all – he wasn't exactly pleased about it. In fact, he would have rather liked to be proved wrong.

After what felt like an endless wait, Dumbledore sat down at his desk. He breathed deeply and gave Harry a concerned look.

'Harry, once again I must admit myself mistaken. I believed that all necessary precautions had been taken to ensure your safety, but I placed too much faith in information that turned out to be misleading.'

Harry tried to say that it didn't matter, he didn't care, he just wanted to find Draco…but Dumbledore continued.

'Sending Draco Malfoy to warn you of the attack was perhaps an error of judgement. It was my intention that the gesture would go some way towards dispelling the enmity between you, and demonstrate that Draco is now our ally. I did not foresee that I was placing him at risk.'

Harry was too angry with himself to blame Dumbledore. 'Professor, Draco warned me not to go to Hogsmeade today but I didn't listen. It's my fault – I was angry with him. When I calmed down I think I did start to believe him. I don't know why I went near the pub, I knew it was dangerous…I…'

He faltered, trying to remember what had been going through his mind while he wandered the streets of Hogsmeade, but his memory of the events leading up to the attack was strangely foggy.

Snape stepped forward and muttered something to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded slightly before turning to Harry again.

'I think that can be explained, Harry. You see, the plot to abduct you was more complicated than any of us had imagined. It seems that Voldemort went to extraordinary lengths to ensure that you visited the Three Broomsticks.'

Harry was baffled. He had only paused to glance in at the window on his way past, and that had been of his own free will…_hadn't it_? 'What do you mean, Professor?' he asked apprehensively.

At this point Snape fixed him with an accusing stare. 'Didn't anyone ever tell you not to accept sweets from strangers, Potter?' he demanded angrily.

Harry stared at him in utter befuddlement. As he watched, the Potions master banged a glass jar onto Dumbledore's desk. Inside was a greenish, gloopy-looking mess which didn't really help Harry to understand anything. He glanced at Dumbledore helplessly.

'Harry, it seems you have been the unwitting recipient of some kind of inquisitiveness potion,' explained the Headmaster. 'Professor Snape has analysed the remains of your ice cream, and the results are quite conclusive.'

Snape nodded, then added to the explanation in a voice like battery acid. 'I found traces of powdered sea urchin and fermented Snapweed in…this,' he indicated the jar of gunk with a distasteful gesture. 'The combination is unique to potions used for inducing a morbid sense of curiosity. There is no doubt that a sufficient dose would have driven you to visit the Three Broomsticks, despite the fact that you were placing yourself…and others…in danger.'

Harry tensed. He was torn between a fresh surge of guilt at the thought of Draco, and anger at Snape's implication that he had known he was placing Draco at risk.

__

I didn't know…I never would have gone if I'd known, potion or no potion…

He opened his mouth to reply but Dumbledore cut him off. 'If it is true that Bellatrix Lestrange is a Metamorphmagus, then she was probably following you from the moment you left the school gates. She could have disguised herself as anyone, in order to make sure the plot succeeded. Do you remember talking to anybody on your way into the village?'

Harry drooped in his chair and nodded, silently. Suddenly he felt very stupid. 'There was a girl,' he admitted quietly. 'I didn't know her, but I couldn't get rid of her. She gave me the ice cream – I took it to shut her up, then she disappeared…' He cleared his throat nervously. 'She was very talkative,' he added, feeling that the Professors were waiting for more details.

'Ah!' said Dumbledore, with an expression of dawning comprehension. Snape's eyes rolled skywards as if he should have known it all along. Harry was mystified.

'Did it never dawn on you…' growled Snape, '…that she was using a subliminal charm?'

Harry looked at him blankly.

'Brainwashing you, Potter! Hypnotising you! Making you believe that you wanted an ice cream!' he barked.

'No, umm, I mean…I was hot…' stammered Harry.

Snape looked like he was going to launch into a stream of furious admonition, but Dumbledore calmly raised his hand, effectively silencing him.

'Thank you, Severus,' he murmured. The Potions master stepped away, aware that he was being dismissed. Harry judged by the grimace of fury on his face that he was not happy about it.

'Once again, Harry, I must ask you not to blame yourself. Subliminal charms are very difficult to spot, if you don't know what to look for. You are not the first wizard to be taken in by one. They are used very effectively in advertising, for example. I confess I have been a victim myself – I was once persuaded to purchase…I believe it is called…a Play Station. Of course it doesn't work with all the magical interference in the castle – I would never have contemplated it, had I been in my right mind.'

Harry wasn't sure he believed this story. It was the type of thing Dumbledore would say to make him feel better, but he smiled in spite of himself.

Dumbledore stood up and glanced at the window. It was getting late – the sun had already set, turning the lake to a glowing pool of liquid gold. 

'The details of the abduction plot are not important at this point,' declared Dumbledore decisively. 'The fact that it failed is a point in our favour. Our efforts should now be concentrated on the recovery of Draco Malfoy.'

Harry leapt to his feet. _Finally! _Here was a plan he wanted to take part in. 'What can I do, Professor?' he asked eagerly.

Dumbledore shook his head slightly, giving him a sympathetic look. 'I realise, Harry, that you are anxious to assist in locating young Mr Malfoy. But I'm afraid I must request that you stay in the castle. There are better ways to help him than by putting yourself at risk, when that is the very situation he has sacrificed himself to avoid.'

Harry was ready to scream with frustration.

'Professor, I…' he began to plead, but Dumbledore had already started to speak.

'Professor Flitwick is currently undertaking a search for a large-scale Location Charm. It is not certain that such a thing exists, but if not he has offered to work on inventing one himself.'

'But that could take ages!' protested Harry, horrified that this was the best plan the great Albus Dumbledore could come up with.

'That is true,' conceded Dumbledore. 'Therefore I have already asked Alastor Moody to lead a party of Aurors in a search of all Voldemort's old hideouts. It is possible that he may be using one of them again.'

Harry didn't think it likely, somehow. Voldemort wasn't stupid, and setting up camp in one of his old haunts would just be asking to be found. However, instead of pointing this out, he voiced a concern which he felt was far more important.

'By now they'll know. The Death Eaters, I mean, and maybe Voldemort, too. They must know that he was trying to save me, and that he's on our side now. That means he could be dead already.' Saying it out loud made the possibility seem very real, and Harry heard his own voice waver as he spoke.

Dumbledore's pause suggested that he thought it was a possibility too.

'Don't forget, Harry, that Draco Malfoy is a Slytherin. He is clever and cunning, and very capable of deception. It would not surprise me if he were able to conceal his true motives from his captors.'

It had not escaped Harry that one of Draco's captors was likely to be his father. He wasn't at all sure that he'd be able to conceal much from him, but he was too tired and too distraught to argue.

While Harry stared disconsolately at an ornate inkwell on Dumbledore's desk, Snape stepped forward and contributed to the discussion.

'If I may share an observation, Headmaster,' he intoned. A thoughtful expression developed on his face, as if he was trying to remember something. 'The Dark Lord would be unlikely to dispose of the son of his loyal follower without a fuss. There would be a ceremony of some sort, and all the Death Eaters would be summoned to witness his demise. It would serve as a warning, to demonstrate how Lord Voldemort deals with traitors.' Snape gave a humourless half-smile which turned to a grimace of distaste as he added 'That would be his…_style_.'

Harry didn't see this news as much of a consolation. For a moment he was certain that the Potions Master was sadistically trying to add to his suffering by piling on the fear and guilt. Then he noticed Dumbledore giving Snape a questioning glance, and the almost imperceptible shake of his greasy head in reply.

__

Of course! Harry suddenly remembered how Voldemort summoned his followers to his side. _Snape's Dark Mark is inactive! That means they are all inactive._ Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Wherever Draco was, and whatever Voldemort had planned for him, there would be no ritual killing just yet.

Dumbledore's words seemed to confirm his thoughts. 'We still have time, Harry. We will find him.' He gave Harry one of his twinkling blue stares over his glasses. 'In the meantime, the best thing you can do is get some sleep.'

***

Draco was not surprised to find Voldemort every bit as terrifying as he had been in Harry's nightmares. _But it isn't a dream_, he told himself. _I can't defeat him with a few made up curses this time_. 

The hideous figure advanced a few paces, cast a mildly surprised look at Draco, and stopped in his tracks. For the first time Draco noticed that he was flanked by two other figures, standing in the shadows. One of them lit the chandeliers with an _incendio_ spell, and the bright, flickering light revealed him to be…

'Father!'

Lucius stared at his son in surprise. Then he closed his eyes and sighed, without speaking. The other figure – a short, bald man with small, watery eyes – was less restrained. His jaw dropped at the sight of Draco. Then he threw a nervous glance at his expressionless master, gulped and took a furtive step backwards.

Draco's involuntary exclamation had seemed to rouse Bellatrix. She straightened up, and walked slowly towards the silent, expressionless Voldemort. 'Master…' she murmered, before dropping to her knees. Voldemort continued to stare at Draco as he spoke.

'This is not Harry Potter,' he hissed quietly.

Bellatrix was visibly trembling. She didn't respond. Voldemort ignored her and turned to Lucius, giving him a quizzical look. Draco had never seen his father look flustered before, although he was hiding it well.

'My Lord!' he gasped. 'I am as surprised as you are…I have no idea how…'

Draco gripped his wand in his pocket and tried to remain expressionless while his father floundered. He used the time to wonder what he was going to say when pressed for an explanation. 

__

Ok, Bella tried to chicken out, and I took over instinctively…I tried to get the bottle and force it on Potter, but then the spell activated…He glanced at the kneeling figure of Bellatrix Lestrange. _She'll deny it, of course, but it'll just be my word against hers._ He looked back at Voldemort, who appeared to be growing tired of the older Malfoy's excuses. _On second thoughts…he won't have the patience for that. He'll just kill us both._

As Voldemort raised a hand to silence Lucius, Draco realised that there was nothing he could say to get himself out of this fix. So he just clutched his wand tighter and waited.

***

It was quite late when Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, still frantic with worry. _Draco may be alive but that doesn't mean he's safe,_ he thought. Snape's point about the Dark Mark had calmed him a little but he was far from reassured.

As he padded along the deserted corridors his mind returned to Dumbledore's parting words to him. Had it been his imagination, or had the Headmaster placed slight emphasis on the phrase _get some sleep_? Harry shook his head, wondering if the stress of the day was making him paranoid.

__

What does it matter whether I sleep or not…?

An answer leapt into his head from nowhere, but before he could seize it and make sense of it, it was gone again. 

He tried to retrace the steps he had taken in his mind. _Sleeping…sleeping…why did Dumbledore give me that knowing look when he mentioned sleeping? _

Harry was gripped by a moment of panic. That niggling thought sprang into his mind again but he couldn't keep it there. He was too horrified by the very idea of Dumbledore knowing about the dreams he had shared with Draco.

He banished the thought as he turned into the corridor leading to the portrait hole. It was academic anyway - he was far too worried to sleep. He just hoped that wherever Draco was, he was sleeping safely.

He continued to plod along the moonlit corridor.

__

Sleeping safely…He paused in his tracks.

The elusive thought reappeared, this time jumping up and down and waving a flag.

__

Sleeping safely…Somni…OH!

His tired, stressed brain finally made the connection. He began to walk more quickly, then he ran hell for leather to the Gryffindor boys' dorm to collect his Invisibility Cloak.

He was in and out of Gryffindor Tower so quickly that the Fat Lady didn't have time to fully close the Portrait Hole in between. She opened her mouth to reprimand him but he was gone before she could speak. 

He pelted along corridors and down staircases, his Invisibility Cloak billowing behind him. He descended the stairs to the dungeons by means of the banister, flying off the end with slightly less grace than a drunken Hippogriff. Fortunately he landed on something soft, which turned out to be Mrs Norris. She yowled and sped off towards Filch's office as Harry got to his feet, but he didn't have time to worry about the caretaker. 

He ran so fast along the Potions corridor that the Bloody Baron got caught in his slipstream, and wafted through the wall into Snape's office.

'CATWEAZLE!' he bellowed, as he rounded the corner into the Slytherin corridor. Up ahead the Portrait of the Victorians moved aside, and Harry sprinted through the opening without a pause. A few students were up late, studying in the common room. They looked up as the entrance apparently opened all by itself, but if they noticed the rush of air as he dashed past, they did nothing about it. There were enough ghosts around the castle to make it a commonplace occurrence. 

Harry didn't stop until he reached the door to the sixth year boys' dorm. He paused to steady his breath, clutching at a stitch in his side, then crept in.

The curtains were closed around all the beds except Draco's. Harry could hear deep snores coming from one, but he couldn't be sure if the other boys were asleep. He tiptoed across the room until he stood on Draco's bedside rug. He gazed sadly at the empty bed, remembering the last time he had stood on this spot. 

He shook himself before he could drift into a daydream about the beautiful, sleeping Slytherin. There were more pressing matters at hand. 

The flask of potion was not on the table where it had been last time. Harry dropped to the floor and searched under the bed, but aside from an extraordinary number of shoes, there was nothing there. 

He tackled the trunk at the end of the bed next. When Draco had last left the room, he had obviously done so in a hurry - the trunk was unlocked and the contents in disarray. Harry rummaged among the books and clothes, trying not to get distracted by the mental image inspired by a pair of black silk boxer shorts.

He was starting to worry that perhaps the potion wasn't in the dorm at all when his eyes fell on the small cabinet next to the bed. He tried the door, but it was locked. His heart skipped – if Draco kept it locked there must be something either very valuable, or very secret inside. 

__

Alohomora didn't work, and Harry didn't know any advanced unlocking spells. But he knew something Draco didn't: He knew how Muggles get into locked cupboards. He quickly cast a silencing charm and took one of the brass tripod legs from Draco's telescope. He inserted the flat end into the crack between the doors of the cabinet, hammered it in using one of Draco's designer boots, then pulled hard on the makeshift crowbar. The lock remained intact, but the wood splintered and cracked, eventually parting from the lock altogether.

The first thing Harry found inside was a framed photograph of a five or six year old Draco with his parents. He was sitting on his father's knee, holding a squirming puppy that kept trying to lick his face. His mother was kneeling by his side, holding her husband's hand. All three were laughing. Harry watched the blissful domestic scene for a few moments. For some reason the image made him sad.

He didn't have time to dwell on it. He spotted the flask half-hidden behind a fluffy, stuffed toy snake, and seized it. There wasn't much of the purple potion left – he hoped there would be enough for one more dream. He tucked the flask under his cloak and retreated, making his way straight back to Gryffindor Tower.


	19. Chapter 19

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.  
  
Massive hugs to Sean for beta-reading.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

*** 

Draco stood rooted to the spot. His father had been unable to shed any light on the failure of the plot, so Voldemort would be looking for answers elsewhere – any time now. 

The pale, skeletal face turned towards him. Burning eyes surveyed him intently, making him feel rather as though he were being slowly cooked. Abruptly the blood-red gaze fell instead upon Bellatrix. Draco thought she looked as if she would rather be back in Azkaban than where she was at that moment.

Voldemort stepped closer to her and reached towards her face with long, bony fingers. He slowly lifted her chin so that she was looking at him.

'Bella,' he said quietly. The high, cold voice was softened slightly. It could hardly be called affectionate, but the diminished venom and malice in his tone suggested to Draco that the Dark Lord was rather fond of her. Somehow, though, he didn't think that would help her much. 

'I believe we agreed that you would deliver Harry Potter to me today, yet instead I seem to find myself in the company of Malfoy the Younger. Is there an explanation for this?'

She haltingly began to recount the scene outside the pub, but it quickly became apparent to everyone present that Voldemort wasn't really interested in explanations. In Draco's opinion, he just enjoyed making people squirm. Bellatrix faltered, and her voice faded away. Voldemort smiled at her in a wholly unpleasant manner.

'I have no use for failures, Bella,' he seethed. '_Finite Incantatem_!'

Whatever protective spell he had bestowed on Bellatrix began to dissolve. Wisps of sparkling smoke evaporated from her skin. She shivered, but Draco didn't think it was because she had suddenly become sensitive to the cold.

'Wormtail!' snapped Voldemort. The little bald man hurried forward, fumbling ineptly with his wand. 'I need time to devise a suitable punishment. See to it that Mrs. Lestrange is installed comfortably in the Master Bedchamber in the meantime.'

Wormtail performed a rather unprofessional Full Body-bind, which left Bellatrix unable to move, but still slightly flexible. Her legs collapsed under her as if she had fainted. Wormtail seized one of her arms with a powerful-looking artificial hand, and dragged her through a doorway on the left side of the room.

Voldemort turned his attention to Draco.

'Why?' He asked, in a voice like molten lead. 'Why are you here? And why is Harry Potter…_not_ here?'

Draco very much doubted that there was a correct answer to that question. He bit his lip and cleared his throat, trying to summon the courage to tell Voldemort where to go. He tried to meet the Dark Lord's malevolent stare with an audacious one of his own, but it hurt his eyes. Instead, he looked over Voldemort's shoulder at Lucius. He was surprised by what he saw.

Although his father's face was expressionless, and he stood watching events with an air of passive nonchalance, Draco was not fooled. The steel-grey eyes were too much like his own - they revealed to him a good measure of what was behind them.

There was fear…and anger. There was a flicker of the kind of paternal outrage that emerges when a father discovers his child being bullied. But there was something else…there! 

Draco was able to guess what his father was thinking. Lucius was no stranger to Draco's fits of defiance and rebelliousness during his childhood, and he would have recognised one at once. Now he was trying to communicate a warning.

Draco thought quickly. Perhaps if he resisted the urge to declare himself an ally of Harry Potter, he might just emerge from the situation in one piece. He very much wanted to spit in Voldemort's face but he knew perfectly well that he would die for it. So he decided to take his father's lead…for now.

'I wanted to be there, to witness the demise of the great Harry Potter,' he drawled. 'I wanted to help, if I could. He was reluctant to take the bottle. I think he knew it was a Portkey. I tried to make him take it but it activated before I could reach him. So here I am.'

Voldemort's slit nostrils flared. He stared closely at Draco, as if he would be able to detect a lie if he got near enough.

'Foolish boy!' he spat, after a moment of silence. He turned abruptly and strutted away from Draco, but continued to berate him. 'Did you not realise that there would be measures in place to ensure that Potter was given the Portkey, without your clumsy inteference?'

Draco couldn't bring himself to grovel. He glared at Voldemort's retreating back but said nothing. Suddenly Voldemort stopped, turned again and looked at Draco shrewdly.

'What made you think that you could persuade Potter to take the Portkey if he had already refused it?' he asked.

__

Oops, thought Draco, his mind going blank. He remained silent.

'Perhaps you have some kind of power over Potter which would be of use to me, but you choose not to enlighten me?' Voldemort's face was a mask of simmering rage. When Draco still didn't speak he drew his wand and screeched at him, 'If you have no more useful information, young Malfoy, then you are nothing but a useless traitor and should be dealt with as such!' He raised his wand and aimed it at Draco's chest. 

Before he could speak, Lucius stepped between them.

'If I may make a suggestion, My Lord…' he said calmly. Voldemort turned a disbelieving glare on him. Draco fully expected Lucius to receive whatever curse had been intended for him, but his father continued. 

'I know my son, and I can assure you that there is more to his story than he has chosen to reveal. Perhaps with the right…encouragement…we might learn something of value?' He spoke confidently, but Draco could see a rapid pulse beating at his father's throat.

Voldemort's expression changed to one of thoughtful interest. He lowered his wand. Draco thought he heard his father release a shaky breath.

'Very well,' snapped Voldemort. 'Wormtail!' The balding, watery-eyed man emerged from the master bedroom, locking the door behind him with a spell. He scurried across the room and stood before his master, apparently reluctant to lift his gaze higher than the Dark Lord's knees. 

'You will obtain a vial of Veritaserum from the Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. Do not go to anyone else, and do not accept a ready-made potion. I want it freshly made, for full potency. I don't care if you have to make him work all night. Return with it by daybreak.'

Wormtail gave a short bow, whimpering, 'Yes, Master.' Then he Disapparated with a loud '_Pop_!'

Voldemort turned to Lucius. 'Show your son to the second bedchamber, and see to it that he sleeps. I would like him to be well rested when I jog his memory. Then you will assist me in dealing with Mrs Lestrange.' 

He turned his scorching gaze on Draco. 'We will meet again at dawn. I hope that then you will be more forthcoming.' He turned and marched to the door leading to the Master Bedchamber, unlocking it with a silent wave of his wand. Draco tried not to think about what might be in store for Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Come,' said Lucius quietly, taking Draco's arm. He led him to another side door, on the opposite side of the room. He gestured for Draco to enter the moonlit room, checked that Voldemort had disappeared into the other bedroom, then followed.

Draco's heart began to pound nervously. This was it. This was the moment when he would discover whether or not he was brave enough to tell his father the truth.

'You must tell me what happened, Draco,' said Lucius wearily, turning to face his son. 'At daybreak you will be forced to reveal the truth anyway. At least if I know it in advance, I can think about how best to proceed, to make things…less unpleasant.'

Draco wasn't convinced. He had made his father angry on many occasions while growing up, with unpleasant results. On balance, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't prefer to take his chances with Voldemort. 

__

Oh, well. Tortured to death for betrayal in the morning…or beaten to death for shaming the family now. Either way, I'm just as dead…

He began tentatively, trying to avoid mentioning his own actions for the moment. 'Dumbledore found out about the plot. His information wasn't accurate, but he knew the time and place.'

'I know he had the wrong information,' replied Lucius impatiently. 'It was I who fed that story to Snape. We've known for months that he is double-crossing us. We intended him to report back to Dumbledore with false information. That is not why the plot failed.'

Draco gulped. He was running out of ways to put off the inevitable. 'I know. The plot failed because of me. I stopped Harry from taking the Portkey.' He looked at his feet and held his breath.

Lucius made a pained grimace, closing his eyes and shaking his head. After a pause he spoke, but it seemed to take some effort. 

'Why?' he asked quietly. 'After everything I have taught you, after the care I have taken to lead you along the most appropriate path…you deliberately defied me?' His voice was a calm, quiet monotone. Draco began to tremble slightly. Bad things usually happened when his father sounded like that.

Lucius strode towards him and seized him roughly by the shoulders. Draco gritted his teeth and prepared for the hiding of a lifetime, but it never came.

Lucius suddenly registered what Draco had just said. 'Harry? _Harry?_ Since when have you been on first name terms with Potter?'

Draco didn't have an answer ready. He didn't think there was anything useful to say at this point anyway. He remained silent, raising his eyes guiltily to meet his Father's.

Lucius stared at him in disbelief. Just as Draco could interpret his father's thoughts by looking into his eyes, Lucius could use Draco's eyes as a window to his feelings. He looked into them now and saw the truth.

A heavy silence filled the room as realisation dawned. Eventually Lucius whispered, 'I see,' and looked away, releasing Draco with a slight push. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes as if he had a headache. Draco noticed that he was swaying slightly, as though the revelation had knocked him off balance.

'Father...?' he said quietly.

Lucius spun round to face him. He was visibly distraught, elegant composure forgotten as he struggled to take in this information.

'If this…with Potter…if this is the case,' he stammered, 'then there is nothing I can do. With the use of Veritaserum the Dark Lord can extract the truth, no matter how hard I may work to conceal it. I cannot save you.' He paced around the bedroom in agitation, clenching and unclenching his hands as he thought. He paused and gave his son a desperate look. 'You are…Are you sure, Draco?'

Draco's throat was too tight to speak. He nodded silently.

Lucius nodded in return, closing his eyes once more. 'So be it. If you have truly chosen that path, there is nothing to be gained in forcing you from it. But you must understand that from now on we must be strangers. It would be unsafe for both of us if we were to remain in contact.'

None of this came as a surprise to Draco. He had known what his choice would mean, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. Hot tears began to sting as he nodded again.

'If you get out of here alive, you must return to school and remain there. Never return home. That way I can neither be commanded to turn you in as a traitor, nor to use you as a means to get to Potter. I will…find a way to explain to your mother.'

The mention of Narcissa was too much for Draco. Silent tears began to pour.

Lucius seemed to be fighting to control his own emotions. He turned away from Draco. There was a long pause before he spoke, but when he did his voice was once again calm and quiet. 'Shortly I must join the Dark Lord. He will be expecting my assistance to deal with Bellatrix. For now we must follow his instructions to the letter. You will remain in this bedroom until morning.' 

He looked around the room with a hopeless expression, as though looking for something that he knew he wouldn't find. 'This is the room in which Potter was to be held. I have spent the last three days making it utterly impervious to magic, and it would take twice as long to undo. Your wand will be quite useless. Also, the door is bewitched to only open from the outside. There is no possible means of escape. Had I known that I would be using the room to imprison my own son, I might have been…slightly less thorough.'

Draco stifled the last of his quiet sobs and wiped his face with a corner of a Hotel bathrobe. Lucius continued. 'I suppose that Potter…I suppose he returns your, uhh…' he struggled with the word '…affection?'

Draco's desolation doubled. _It had seemed so, in the dreams_. 'I don't know,' he whispered. _I doubt it_, he thought, remembering their last conversation. But Harry had seen him fight off Bellatrix, he was sure of it. For a moment, just as the Portkey had snared him, their eyes had met. Maybe it was possible that Harry would now at least believe that he truly was trying to save his life. 'I think, even if he doesn't, he might still try to find me…' he added.

Lucius slowly shook his head. 'He won't find you. This place is magically hidden, like Hogwarts. You can only find it if you have been invited or summoned. It is necessary, to keep Muggles from stumbling across it. _They_ like the countryside too, apparently.'

Draco sank further into despair at this news, but didn't speak.

Lucius turned to face him again. 'It is important that you sleep – the effects of Veritaserum can be very unpleasant, especially to a tired mind.'

Draco had never felt less like sleeping in his life. He shook his head silently, still not quite trusting his voice. His father seemed to read his thoughts.

'Don't worry – I'll leave you this.' He took a small bottle from a pocket of his robes. Draco thought he saw his hand shaking slightly. 'The wards on this room will not prevent the use of potions, as the actual magic was performed elsewhere. This is a simple sleeping potion. The usual dose applies – one drop for a light sleep, five drops for a deep sleep. It's um…it's a new bottle…' 

The significance of that statement did not escape Draco. A new bottle would contain a hundred doses – enough to send the drinker into the kind of sleep that you never wake from. He was filled with a sense of hopelessness as Lucius placed the bottle on the dressing table. If his father was offering him this way out as a last resort, he couldn't hold out much hope of Draco surviving Voldemort's interrogation by Veritaserum.

A moment ago Draco had been faced with spending the rest of his life separated from his parents. Now it appeared that the rest of his life would be about eight hours, and he would never see Harry again. 

There were no more tears, just an aching numbness, like frostbite in his heart.

The two pairs of silver-grey eyes met in solemn acknowledgement.

'Thank you,' Draco managed.

Lucius had not hugged his son since the day he had left home to begin his first year at Hogwarts, so Draco was surprised when he did so now. It was brief and awkward, but they clung to each other for a moment, as if to confirm that there were no more words to say.

Then Lucius was gone, closing the door behind him and leaving Draco in darkness.

***

Harry arrived back at his own dorm, out of breath and desperately worried. He had found the potion, but he had no idea how it worked. 

He closed the curtains around his bed and inspected the flask in his wand-light. The last drops of the potion glowed a deep, iridescent mauve. He uncorked it and sniffed gingerly; the strong scent of almonds confirmed that it was the right flask. Now there was only one thing left to do. He closed his eyes and tipped the contents of the flask down his throat.

He placed the empty flask on his bedside table and lay down, staring at the canopy over his bed. Nothing seemed to be happening.

__

Why isn't it working? 

He began to panic. What if he'd been wrong all along? What if this potion wasn't what Draco had been using to get into his head? What if it really was just a flu remedy?

As the possibilities flew around in his head, Harry began to grow dizzy. He closed his eyes again and gasped as the whirling sensation intensified. It was like being sucked down a plug hole. He fought the impulse to seize the posts of his bed to steady himself; the potion was obviously starting to do something and he didn't want to impede it. So he forced himself to stay calm and ride out the sickening chaos until it subsided, leaving him floating gently through thick clouds of swirling mist.

Pleasant as it was, after a few minutes of floating aimlessly he began to get impatient. How was he supposed to find Draco by just hovering around here? He wracked his brains for something he might have missed, some clue that would tell him how to get past this stage. 

Nothing Hermione had told him was any help. He thought back to the night he had visited the Slytherin dorms, and had watched silently as Draco tried to get into his own subconscious. He couldn't think of anything that Draco had done differently…except…_but surely it doesn't make any difference if you have clothes on or not!_

Apparently not, because as Harry called to mind the vivid mental image of pale skin and platinum hair glowing in the magical moonlight, the floating sensation changed. Suddenly he was flying, faster and faster. He could see Draco's face quite clearly in his mind…he was almost there…

Abruptly he collided with some kind of invisible barrier, which firmly bounced him back in the opposite direction. He opened his eyes to find himself back in his bed.

Far from discouraged, he closed his eyes again immediately. He was getting the hang of it…he must have just lost concentration. _I'll get it…I will…even if I have to try all night!_ He screwed his eyes shut and tried again.

***

Draco stared at the door, which had just closed quietly behind his father. It was very difficult to keep from sinking into despair. The chances of rescue were remote, and his father had admitted himself helpless. 

In the morning he would be interrogated under a potion which would leave him mentally exhausted - he would be incapable of negotiating his way out of a cardboard box, let alone talking Voldemort into freeing him. That was if he was still alive once Voldemort had heard the truth about his change of faith…and his feelings for Harry.

He didn't doubt that his father had done a good job of magic-proofing the bedroom, but he drew out his wand anyway; it had to be worth a shot. 

He knew it wouldn't work as soon as he touched it. There was no warmth in the ebony wood under his fingers, and no reassuring vibration of magical energy. With a heavy heart he pointed his wand at the door and attempted an _Explosius_ hex. Nothing happened. Sighing, he tried to levitate a hotel business card, but even this simple spell was ineffective.

He pocketed his wand and explored the room instead. The door handle had some kind of anti-grip charm on it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't turn it. He moved over to the window and tried the handle. To his surprise, it opened, but that didn't help his situation much. Leaning out, he found that the balcony did not extend as far as his room; it was a good ten feet away to his left. He looked down, and could just about make out the dim shape of the entrance hall roof in the darkness. Without a weightlessness charm he would never survive the fall.

Sighing, he closed the window. If he was to remain trapped he may as well be trapped and warm. 

He noticed that a narrow door in the corner stood ajar, and made his way around the large four-poster bed to get to it. There was a small but luxurious bathroom beyond. The floor appeared to be made of solid marble, and the lower half of each wall was decorated with highly polished walnut panels. There were no windows, only a small, slatted vent in the ceiling. If it were unscrewed, a malnourished house-elf might be able to squeeze through, if it held its breath. 

A towel rail equipped with several huge, fluffy towels stood next to a sunken bathtub, which was easily big enough for two. Draco thought sadly about Harry, wishing he'd had time for one more dream visit before all of this had happened. It had never occurred to him to engineer one of the dreams to take place in the Prefects' bathroom.

He turned away and retreated to the bedroom. He flung himself onto the bed and went over and over his situation. Eventually he had to accept that his father was right – there was no way out. He would just have to wait until morning and accept his fate. It was shaping up to be a _very_ long night.

He glanced at the bottle of sleeping potion, weighing up his options. He wasn't tempted to drink the whole lot and drift peacefully into an endless sleep. True, it was preferable to the end which Voldemort would have in store for him, but that was still hours away. He had faith in his own intelligence; he might yet think of something. 

However, the prospect of spending his last night on Earth wide awake and afraid was not exactly inviting. He decided to take a single dose, just enough for a few hours of light snoozing. It would refresh his mind and improve his chances of coming up with a brilliant escape plan. He picked up the bottle and tipped a single drop into a glass of water by his bed. 

He swallowed the drugged water in two gulps, then curled up on the bed. He was already drowsy, and looked forward to a few hours of blissful oblivion. After all, it had been a long, stressful day, and he was starting to get a devil of a headache.

***

On his third try, Harry finally managed to complete the flight into Draco's subconscious. He arrived to find himself lying face down on a cold stone floor in a dark corridor. He stood and looked around. There was no sign of Draco. _But at least I'm here, in his dream. That means he's definitely alive…_

He began to walk, rounding a corner to find himself in yet another stone corridor. Torches flickered in sconces on the walls but there was no sign of life anywhere. He began to run, eventually reaching a crossroads. Two more corridors led off to either side of him, while the one he had been following continued into the distance.

Panic began to rise, but Harry calmed himself with a moment's rational thought. _This is Draco's dream – he must be here somewhere. _He stayed where he was and called Draco's name. His voice echoed around the stone maze but there was no reply.

__

This is ridiculous, thought Harry. _I'm supposed to be in control here – why can't I find him_? He called again, willing Draco to reply. This time, when the echoes died away, he heard it. His own name, reverberating along the tunnels. It was impossible to tell which direction the sound had come from, but Harry decided that didn't matter. 

He set off down the corridor to his left, willing the maze to lead him to Draco. They continued calling each other, and Draco's voice got louder and louder. 

Eventually Harry turned a corner to find himself in a square stone room, which he supposed was the centre of the maze. As he looked around, Draco emerged from one of the other corridors and stood facing him, on the other side of the room.

Harry let out a cry of relief and lunged at him, seizing him in a vice-like embrace. 'Draco!' he sobbed, clutching at the Slytherin's hair and burying his face in his neck.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and stroked his hair comfortingly. 'It's nice to see you, too,' he murmured, and gently kissed the top of Harry's head.

Harry relaxed into Draco's arms, forgetting for a moment why he was there. He softly kissed his way up Draco's neck to his ear, where he whispered, 'I missed you.'

Draco shivered against him before murmering, 'I missed you too. But you shouldn't have come…'

Harry stepped back and looked at Draco in shock. 'Why not?' he asked.

Draco gesturead at the stone walls surrounding them. 'Well, you found me, but now we're both trapped,' he replied.

Harry abruptly remembered why he was there. 'Oh! Draco, I came because I need to ask you something. I need to know where you are, so that I can come and find you…'

Draco gave him a quizzical look. 'But…Harry, you _have_ found me. I'm right here!'

Harry had been afraid of this…the dreaming Draco had no memory of recent events in the waking world.

'No, Draco you have to remember. Please try…the abduction from the Three Broomsticks. You were there, remember? There was a Portkey…where did it take you? Please, Draco, think!'

Draco frowned at him. 'Harry, what are you talking about?'

'It's a dream, Draco! None of this is real! I need you to remember your real life.' Harry ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. 'That day…we had a fight. I threw things at you…remember? I was angry because you'd been using a potion to get into my dreams. That what I'm doing now, Draco! This is _your_ dream! Please…tell me where you are…where you _really_ are…'

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment then his expression went blank. At the same time the stone walls seemed to blur and fade. Harry felt himself lifted off his feet as a thick mist began to descend around him. _Oh no, he's waking up…_

He gazed desperately at Draco's fading face and screamed, '_WHERE ARE YOU?_'

He saw Draco open his mouth to speak but he only had time to utter a single word before Harry found himself plummeting through the fog and landing back in his bed with a jolt.

He sat up, disorientated and sweating. The single word that he thought he had heard was still ringing in his ears.

__

Copernicus? What the hell does that mean?

__ __


	20. Chapter 20

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

For those who haven't noticed, this story is SLASH. If you don't like it, don't read it!

Thanks to Christa and June for Beta-reading.

***

Draco woke with a start, the dream still vivid in his mind. He sat up and tried desperately to analyse what had just happened. _Could that really have been Harry, using the Somnio Salvus potion? Or was it just an ordinary dream?_ He'd only ever been the user of the potion before, never the recipient, so he had no idea what it would feel like if someone invaded his dreams.

He lay back down, facing the window, and stared at the stars glittering above the silhouette of a jagged hill. It had certainly seemed like the real Harry, and everything he had said indicated that he'd been using the potion. But even if that were the case, Draco hadn't had time to respond properly. Would Harry be able to work out where he was from one blurted word, if he had even heard it?

The flicker of hope was quickly extinguished as Draco remembered that the building was magically concealed. He wasn't at all sure that one word, shouted incoherently in a dream, would count as an invitation. Even if that had been the real Harry, it was unlikely that he would find him.

He sighed and turned on to his side. There were muffled cries coming from the other bedroom. Evidently**,** Bellatrix was receiving her punishment for the failed abduction. He pulled a pillow over his head to block the sound, then closed his eyes and thought about Harry. The remnants of the sleeping potion in his blood relaxed him, and he soondozed off again.

***

Harry was mystified. Draco had only had time to say one word before he woke up, but instead of saying the name of a town or even a country, he had shouted the name of an astronomer who had been dead for hundreds of years.

Harry clambered out of bed and wondered what to do next. He caught sight of a pile of books on one of the large tables near the fireplace. Most of the boys had taken to working on their essays in the dorm because there was less noise than in the common room. 

On top of the pile was Hermione's Muggle text book, 'How to be an Astronomer.' Harry picked it up and flicked through it by wand light until he found a chapter on the early astronomers, but the section about Copernicus told him nothing he didn't already know. He had known since his first year Astronomy classes what Copernicus had discovered. Until his work was published, everyone had thought that the Earth stood still, while the Sun, stars and planets revolved around it.

Harry slammed the book shut and sat down on his bed. What was Draco trying to tell him? _Okay…so Copernicus revolutionised the way we look at our own position in the universe simply by changing perspective. _He grabbed a quill and searched for something to write on. 

He found a scrap of parchment in the pocket of a discarded robe and scrawled notes on it as he began to construct a theory. 

__

Draco was trying to give me a clue; I just need to think laterally. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking "Where is Draco?" but "Where am I in relation to Draco?" He hastily scribbled down the query and stared at it. _I need a formula…_

He rummaged through the pile of books again until he found 'Applied Arithmancy, Level One.' He flicked through it with one hand, absently stroking his chin with the quill. It was the swan feather that Draco had given him, and somehow it made him feel closer to Draco as he searched. 

Finding an equation that looked promising, he turned his parchment over to write on the other side. He made an exasperated sound as he noticed that there was already something written on it, but then he blinked twice, and dropped his quill with a short giggle of disbelief. It was the flier that Hermione had forced on him at dinner, weeks ago. He had stuffed it into his pocket and forgotten all about it. Now he read it for the first time, mentally thanking Hermione for being such a swot.

__

The International Standards Committee for Magical Education is Proud to present

****

***I.C.A.M 1996***

__

You are cordially invited to attend the primary event in the Academic Wizarding Calendar.

__

Special guests include Prof. Emeric Switch, with his presentation, "Pop goes the Weasel! – Advances in Animal Transfiguration."

__

Also a series of lectures by the Hon. Newton Scamander, entitled "Great Balls of Fire! – Memoirs of a Dragon Researcher_."_

__

Plus our world famous Poster Exhibition (Abstracts to be submitted no later than November 15th)

__

Monday 18th December and Tuesday 19th December at the Copernicus Hotel, Derbyshire. Please owl Madam Jocasta Jewell for an application pack. Accommodation and Portkey transport by arrangement.

(***We also do Weddings!***)

Harry seized his cloak, his Firebolt and the compass from his broomstick servicing kit. He pocketed the flier - it had a handy map at the bottom for the benefit of those who preferred to make their own way. He tried not to think about where he might have ended up if he had continued with his Arithmancy theory.

Without a backward glance he launched himself from the window ledge, and soared away into the chilly night.

***

When Draco woke, a thin halo of half-hearted light was beginning to seep into the sky behind the bleak hills. He sat bolt upright and instinctively reached for his wand to perform a _Tempus_ spell. When it didn't work, he sighed with frustration and got to his feet. He paced the room fretfully, pausing now and then to look out of the window: He didn't need to determine the exact time to know that sunrise was approaching, and with it, his trial by truth potion.

He had slept for longer than he had intended – the combination of terror and emotional stress with his father's sleeping potion must have made him more tired than he thought. This, of course, meant that he was running out of time to concoct an escape plan.

He could no longer hear screams from the other room. Whatever Voldemort had done to Bellatrix, he had evidently finished. As soon as the Wormtail creature returned, it would be his turn.

He couldn't keep images of the red-eyed, serpent-like face out of his head. He kept imagining the fiery glare that would inevitably appear when he disclosed his rejection of the Dark Arts. Then there would be a shriek of rage when he announced his support of Dumbledore's campaign for peace between Muggles and Wizards. As for the moment when he would inevitably reveal his devotion to Harry Potter…for some reason Draco saw the pale, spectral face break into an insane smile, and a high, mad cackle echoed in his head.

Draco sank back onto the bed as dread hit him, like a Bludger to the stomach. Voldemort would be only too pleased to learn about the dreams, the _Somnio Salvus_ potion, and Draco's real-life feelings for Harry. If there was a chance that Harry returned his feelings, then he, Draco, could be used as bait.

He dropped his face into his hands, mentally kicking himself for telling Harry the name of the hotel. If that really was Harry, and if he heard him shout it before the dream ended, then no doubt the stupid, crazy, reckless…and ludicrously gutsy Gryffindor would already be on his way. There was no guarantee he would find the place, but if he did, Voldemort would be expecting him.

Draco wasn't having that. 

__

No way. No way am I going to be the means for Voldemort to get his hands on Harry. I'll die first…

The significance of that thought weighed heavily on his mind. If Voldemort were to arrive at dawn and find him dead…he would not be able to interrogate him. Then he would not find out about him and Harry, and he would have no reason to suppose that Harry would come looking for him. If Harry did turn up, with any luck Voldemort would be long gone.

Draco fumbled in the faint light for the bottle of sleeping potion and toyed with it nervously. It would be painless; he had no qualms about that. And that was more than could be said for what Voldemort would do to him. But at least he could ensure Harry's safety.

In the absence of a plan to save his own life, Draco prepared to save Harry's. He lay back on the bed and uncorked the potion. Then he filled his head with thoughts of Harry as he brought the vial to his lips.

***

Harry had been flying for hours. The damp night air penetrated his hair and clothes, chilling him to the bone. He encountered several patches of icy fog, which stung his face and numbed his fingers where they gripped the broom handle. He was beginning to suffer from the combination of intense cold and the effort of clinging to his broom for so long; he was as stiff as a plank of wood. Each time he changed direction or adjusted his altitude, every muscle screamed in protest.

He ignored his growing discomfort and tried to get his bearings. He had followed the map carefully, and he was sure he was now flying over Derbyshire. The landscape seemed to be acquiring more hills as he headed south, although it was hard to tell. The ground was a long way down, and in the absence of any nearby towns he had only the moon to light his way.

He fumbled for the map again, and squinted at it in the moonlight. 

__

Okay, 'Follow the Pennines south, and turn left at Manchester'…yep…'right at the lake shaped like a wishbone'…done …and now I just need to find this pointy hill…where is it? He squinted into the misty darkness ahead as he raced on.

Suddenly a huge, dark shape loomed out of the thick fog right ahead ofhim, and it was only his swift Seekers' instincts that prevented him from slamming face first into a rocky expanse of hillside. He veered left with a grunt of effort, slowing his broom as he circled the peak. 

He landed on a ridge, on the south side of the hill. He then dismounted from his broom, feeling distinctly saddle-sore, and studied the map again. According to the directions, he should be able to see the hotel from here. He turned to the West, trying to make out the shapes of the hills against the starlit sky. 

Two jagged peaks stood close together, one much taller than the other. In the narrow valley between them, Harry could have sworn he saw a tiny glimmer of light. His heart leapt. _That must be it!_

Forcing his tired, aching limbs to co-operate, he swung himself back onto his broom and took off, heading for the source of the light. 

As he got closer, he realised that the light was coming from a single room on the top floor of a large building. The faint blue glow of the Western sky was still not bright enough to see properly, but he was certain he had found the _Copernicus_.

Slowing down as he approached, he spotted an ornate balcony outside the illuminated room. He landed on it silently and flattened himself against the wall next to the French windows. He kept perfectly still and listened hard, but apart from the tentative twittering of the very early birds, and the gentle flapping of the flags over the entrance hall, there was not a sound to be heard.

He turned his head and gingerly peered through the window. The luxurious penthouse suite appeared to be deserted. 

Holding his breath and walking on tiptoe, Harry approached the floor-to-ceiling windows and tried the handles. They opened with a faint _click._ He froze for a moment, and when no Death Eaters came running to apprehend him, he stepped inside.

Now that he was in, he found that he could hear faint voices coming from a room to his right, the door of which stood slightly ajar. He ducked behind a velvet-covered chesterfield and tried to hear what they were saying. There were at least two people in there, one male and one female, but they were too quiet to make out. The woman – _probably Bellatrix Lestrange_, thought Harry with a stab of loathing – wasn't saying much anyway. Her voice only seemed to be making faint whimpers. The man's voice sounded like Lucius Malfoy to Harry. He was doing most of the talking…_or was he chanting?_

Harry didn't wait to find out. He was more interested in finding Draco and getting as far away from the Peak District as possible.

Looking to his left he saw another door, but this one was closed. Hiding his broomstick under the chesterfield, he inched his way towards it, his heart hammering in his chest. If he were caught now, then everything would have been for nothing. Draco's sacrifice, Dumbledore's warnings…in a way**,** it would have been better if the abduction had succeeded in the first place. _At least then Draco would be safe…_

Praying that he wouldn't find himself faced with an army of Death Eaters, he slowly opened the door a crack and slipped silently into the room, pushing it shut behind him. It was dark – he could only see shadows of furniture in the dim hint of early dawn. He gripped his wand and whispered, '_Lumos_,' but nothing happened. He didn't have time to wonder why, because at that moment he realised that he was not alone. A familiar voice spoke from the shadows on the other side of the room.

'Harry?'

All traces of panic and fear were lost in a moment of pure relief.

'Draco!' Harry lunged towards him, reaching out blindly and stumbling as he caught his foot under the edge of a rug. He pitched forward but was saved from falling as a shadowy silhouette emerged from the gloom and seized him in a hug that knocked the breath out of him. He flung his arms around Draco with a choked cry, registering the familiar feeling of fine, soft hair brushing against his neck. He was so caught up in it that it took him a moment to realise that Draco was saying something, murmuring softly into his hair.

'You're here! That was really you…the dream…you're really here…'

'Mmmm…' confirmed Harry, smiling and sighing contentedly as he savoured every moment of the first real embrace they had ever shared.

'But how did you…I mean this building…it's unplottable or something. How did you find it?'

Harry pulled away, grinning happily and waving the flier at Draco. 'As luck would have it, I was invited. Well, sort of!'

Draco laughed in disbelief, then remembered how their situation had come about. His face fell. 'I'm so sorry…It's my fault…If I hadn't deceived you about the potion…'

'Ssh…no. It's _my_ fault. I seem to have a knack for putting myself and everyone around mein danger. I should have listened to you…_I'm_ sorry…'

'But I…'

'But nothing,' interrupted Harry. 'We could go on like this until Christmas, but I think we should just get out of here and discuss whose fault it was later. How does that sound?'

Draco nodded in agreement, then pulled away abruptly, staring over Harry's shoulder. 'Oh, hell…Tell me you didn't close the door?'

'Of course I did. There was someone in the room opposite this one, I didn't want them knowing I was here, did I?'

Draco groaned. Harry's elation at having found him began to give way to a creeping sense of foreboding.

'The door is cursed,' announced Draco abruptly. 'It can't be opened from inside…and the whole room is magic proof – that's why your _Lumos_ charm didn't work.'

'Ah.' Harry gulped. 'So what you're saying is…now we're both trapped?'

'Yeah.'

Harry's eyes were beginning to grow accustomed to the gloom, and he looked around. 'What about the window?' he suggested brightly.

'Yes, that opens. Did you bring your broomstick?'

'Of course! It's…'

'…**I**n the other room.' Draco finished for him.

Harry bit his lip. 'I really could have thought this rescue through a bit better, couldn't I?' he added sheepishly.

Draco put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze. 'Don't worry, I'm sure we'll laugh about it one day. We'll just have to think of another plan. I vote that we start by finding a way to get some light in here. There's a lamp there somewhere but I couldn't work out how to light it without magic.'

Harry felt around on the bedside table. Sometimes wizarding establishments kept some basic non-magical equipment around for the benefit of visiting squibs. Sure enough, a brief search of the drawers turned up an elderly box of matches, which he used to light the oil lamp. A cheery glow filled the room, illuminating Draco's face as he gave Harry one of his shy half-smiles. 

Harry couldn't help feeling elated, despite their predicament. He smiled back, returning the matches to the drawer. As he did so, his hand knocked against a small glass bottle and he dived to catch it before it fell.

'What's this?' he asked, inspecting the bottle curiously. It looked familiar – he was sure Madam Pomfrey used this type of potion, whatever it was.

'Oh, uhh…sleeping potion. I couldn't sleep. I was just going to take some when you came in.'

'Where'd you get it?' asked Harry, frowning. 'And…_hang on_! It's nearly daybreak! Why would you be taking a sleeping potion _now_ of all times?'

Draco didn't reply. Harry looked at the nearly full bottle, then at Draco's carefully blank expression. Then he put two and two together.

'Oh no. No, no, no! Whatever happens, not that. Do you understand me?'

Draco sighed. 'I couldn't think what else to do. In the morning I'm going to be interrogated under Veritaserum. When they find out about…well…you know…' He faltered. Sitting disconsolately on the bed he looked up at Harry with a pleading expression. 'I just couldn't bear it if he used me to get to you. I would have done anything to avoid that – I still would.'

Harry gazed at him in disbelief. A few weeks ago**,** he would have bet his boxers that Draco Malfoy would deliver him to Voldemort as soon as look at him. Now, here he was, offering to give his own life to save him.

He had to shake his head slightly to clear it. After all the peculiar dreams he'd been having, it was hard to believe that real life could be even weirder.

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. His throat felt tight and very dry. After a moment of heavy silence, he coughed nervously and stammered, 'I…oh. Draco…look, it won't come to that. I won't let it, ok? We'll get through this.' He sat down next to Draco and nervously placed a hand over his. 'You won't be needing this,' he added firmly, tucking the bottle of sleeping potion into his own pocket.

Draco gave him a sideways smile. 'I hope not. I'd hate to have to fight you for it.' He nudged Harry playfully.

Harry grinned and gave him a gentle jab in the side with his elbow. Then he squeezed his hand and said, 'Much as I'd love a re-match, I think we'd better start thinking about how we're going to get out of here.'

'Yeah. I hope you have better luck than I did. I've searched the place from top to bottom and I can't see any way out,' said Draco, shaking his head in defeat.

'That's because you're not thinking like a Muggle,' said Harry, getting up and inspecting the door closely.

Draco made a face. 'Why would I want to do that?' he said distastefully.

Harry laughed. 'Don't be such a snob!' he scolded. 'Believe it or not, Mister _I'm-so-superior_, most Muggles are actually quite intelligent, and perfectly capable of coming up with quite ingenious solutions to problems. Anyway, without magic what choice do we have? We may as well _be_ Muggles, for all the use our wands are in here.'

Draco didn't look convinced but he watched curiously as Harry picked up a Hotel business card and started poking it into the narrow gap between the door and its frame. He jiggled it around for about a minute, muttering impatiently under his breath. Then he swore quietly and kicked the door, throwing the crumpled remains of the card onto the bed. 

Draco eyed it, looking unimpressed. 'Was that one of those ingenious Muggle solutions?' he asked politely.

'Shut up,' said Harry.

He walked into the bathroom, surveyed the tiny air vent in the ceiling, and walked out again.

'You mean, Muggles don't know how to get through six-inch gaps?' teased Draco. 

Harry scowled and headed for the window. He opened it and leaned out. 

'I already thought of that,' said Draco proudly. 'But we're too high up, we can't jump. So unless you happened to bring a levitating potion, I don't see what we can do.'

Harry frowned for a moment, then a thoughtful smile appeared on his face. 'I think there's one thing we can do,' he said with quiet excitement. He took off his cloak, dropping it on the floor where he stood. Then he pulled back the quilt on the four-poster bed.

Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hair. 'What? _Now_?' he asked in astonishment. 'I mean I'd love to, but…how's _that_ going to help, exactly?'

Harry looked at him blankly. 'What?' he asked, bewildered. 'Oh! No…umm…' He blushed furiously. 'We have to, uh…oh, just help me get these sheets off.' He busied himself with stripping the bed, heart hammering after Draco's insinuation. As he freed one of the white sheets, he gripped one edge firmly and ripped it along its length.

Draco winced. 'That's Irish linen! Have you no respect?' he cried indignantly.

'Oh, stop your moaning and help me,' said Harry. He began tying lengths of linen together, end to end. Draco's expression lifted as realisation dawned.

'Ohhhh! Ok, I get it now. I saw this in a Martin Miggs comic once,' he said, enthusiastically joining in the mutilation of the bedclothes.

When they had tied all the pieces of sheet together, Harry frowned, muttered, '…not long enough…' and looked around for something else to shred. He picked up his cloak, ripped it in half and added it to the makeshift rope.

'Where's _your_ cloak?' he asked as he tied the last knot.

'In the wardrobe,' said Draco. Then he gaped at Harry in horror. '_My_ cloak is from Étienne's of Paris. You're not ripping that up!'

Harry was silent with amazement for a moment, then spluttered, 'Do you want to get out of here or not?'

'Of course I do. But you're not having my cloak. I'll give you the rest of my clothes first!'

'Maybe later…' replied Harry, quick as a flash. This time Draco blushed. 'It doesn't matter anyway – I think it's long enough, now.' 

Draco looked doubtful, but he helped Harry tie one end to a leg of the heavy four-poster bed, then leaned out of the window as Harry threw down the rope. 

'Oh no! It's nowhere near long enough,' moaned Draco. 'Even if we tore up my cloak, the curtains and the bathrobes, it would never reach the ground.'

Harry turned to look at him with an expression that was half scorn, half sympathy.

'Look, you have to know when to _stop_ thinking like a Muggle,' he sighed. 'We don't _need_ it to reach the ground. It just has to reach the window of the room below this one.'

Draco's face broke into a wide grin. 'Oh, yeah! Because once we're _outside _the room…'

'Exactly,' said Harry, in the tone that a teacher might use when a dim-witted student finally manages to complete a simple sum.

'So, now we just…?' Draco gestured to the knotted rope hanging from the window ledge.

'Yep,' smiled Harry.

'After you,' said Draco.

'Why? You're not scared of heights.'

'No, but I'm scared of this Muggle ingenuity you keep on about. Are you sure it's safe?'

'About as safe as dangling from a fifty-foot high broomstick with one hand like you did in that match against Hufflepuff.'

Draco smiled, flushing with pleasure. 'You noticed that?'

'Of course. Now get out there, you poof.'

Draco made a show of looking affronted. 'If that isn't the pot calling the cauldron black!' he said in a piqued tone.

Harry's face fell as he realised what he'd said. 'Oh, uh…no. I didn't mean…I mean I'm not…'

Draco silenced him by grabbing him by the back of his neck and administering a brief but firm kiss on the lips. 'Sure you're not,' he murmured, pulling away and grinning into Harry's shell-shocked face.

He turned towards the window, leaving Harry to recompose himself.

'Get a move on, then. The sun's almost up!' said Harry, hiding his discomfiture with annoyance.

Draco climbed onto the window ledge. He managed to get one leg outside before stopping and turning to come back in.

'What now?' said Harry impatiently.

'I forgot my cloak.'

'Stay there, I'll get it.' Harry sighed and crossed the room. He opened the wardrobe and retrieved Draco's cloak.

Suddenly he froze with panic, as he heard the bewitched door open with a faint creak. Then he heard something that made his heart stop with fear: A cold, high voice taunted, 'Going somewhere, Master Malfoy?'


	21. Chapter 21

Everything belongs to J.K Rowling. I own nothing.

It's still Slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

Thanks to June and Christa for Beta-reading, and to all you lovely reviewers for your encourageing comments. Hugs all round!

***

Harry stood frozen behind the open wardrobe door. He would have known that voice anywhere, after three face-to-face confrontations and countless nightmares. But it didn't make any sense_how could he be here?_

Harry's hand went instinctively to his scar. There had been no pain, no visionsnothing. The idea of being in the same building as Voldemort and feeling _nothing_ waswell, a mystery.

The horribly familiar voice spoke again. Surely, young Malfoy, you do not intend to deny me the pleasure of your company this morning? I have been looking forward to our little discussion.'

From his hiding place, Harry saw Draco glance down the home made rope, then back towards the door. He seemed determined to avoid looking at Harry.

You can be certain,' continued Voldemort, that if you attempt to escape, I will make sure that you are apprehended. It would be no effort at all to instruct one of my devoted servants to meet you at the bottom of that rope, and ensure that you are unable to abscond again. In fact, I believe I have just the man for the job. Lucius could be excused from his current duty of watching over the delinquent Bellatrix. He has become most efficient in his use of the _Crepitus_ curse'

Draco blanched. Harry saw him mentally work through the scenario of being tortured by his own father. Eventually he sighed and climbed down off the window ledge, glaring wearily at Voldemort.

' wheedled Voldemort. Now, I think I need to impress upon you that it is not acceptable to excuse oneself from the presence of Lord Voldemort, without being dismissed. I think perhapsa small taste of the _Cruciatus_ curse would suffice.'

NO!' 

Harry slammed the wardrobe door shut and plunged between Draco and Voldemort, raising his wand. As he stood there, trembling with rage and fear, he realised too late that his wand was quite useless.

Voldemort gazed at him in amazement, then his face spread into a slow, ghastly smile. Behind him, Peter Pettigrew hovered excitedly, glancing from Harry to Voldemort and back again in expectation.

Harry took in the scene in morbid detail; the vial of Veritaserum clutched in Wormatil's remaining human hand, Voldemort's skeletal fingers clutching his wand of pale gold yewthe fact that Wormtail had closed the door behind him in his excitement

Well, well' whispered Voldemort delightedly. It seems the Malfoy boy was of some use to me after all.' He turned his head to look at Draco. Perhaps in light of the fact that you have succeeded where so many have failed, in delivering Harry Potter to me, I might just spare you from the Cruciatus curse. However I am intrigued to know how you managed to accomplish this.'

Draco remained defiantly silent.

Voldemort laughed. I will find out, young Malfoy. I still intend to interrogate you under Veritaserum. But first there is another small matter to take care of'

He whirled to face Harry, raising his wand. _Avada Kedavra_!' he shrieked.

Nothing happened.

Harry lowered his own wand. It seemed Lucius had done an extraordinarily good job of magic-proofing the bedroom. Harry and Draco looked at each other, the same thought obviously occurring to each of them.

Voldemort stared at his wand, horrified, then spun round to face the door. Finding it closed, and apparently impossible to open, he rounded on the two boys with a furious glare. He started towards the window, but they were ready for him.

With a primal roar, they leapt on him together and knocked him to the ground. Draco got an arm around his neck and tried to choke him, while Harry sat on his chest and punched him repeatedly in the face. Amazingly, without magic, the most powerful dark wizard in the world was just a bony old man with no physical strength. His feeble struggles were no match for the two teenage boys, and they continued to pummel him with furious gusto.

That was until Harry heard a loud, sickening _crack_ and looked up to see Draco fall, lifeless, to the floor. Pettigrew stood over him, holding a large Willow-Pattern vase, which he had used to hit Draco over the head.

Panic and rage boiled inside Harry as he took in Draco's inert, staring eyes. _No! Don't be deadplease don't be dead! _He turned a scorching glare on Pettigrew, only one thought in his head: _I'll kill him._ He forgot all about Voldemort and threw himself at Pettigrew. He succeeded in knocking his opponent to the floor, but this time he didn't have Draco's assistance. Also, while Pettigrew was no expert at magic, he was fairly strong, and Harry had not accounted for the formidable enchanted hand. 

Since the spell that created it had been performed long ago, in a graveyard far from the room in which they now fought, the hand was perfectly operational – a fact which Pettigrew demonstrated by punching Harry in the face.

It was like being hit with an iron club. Harry's vision blurred, and he nearly fainted with the pain. He felt warm blood trickle from his nose, and tasted it in his mouth, but he stubbornly remained conscious.

Pettigrew grabbed Harry's left wrist with the magical hand, and twisted it painfully, so that Harry was forced to bend his arm behind his own back or risk breaking it. He cried out as Pettigrew seized his hair with the other hand and yanked his head back. His broken glasses fell from his face.

But even as he struggled to breathe, choking on his own blood, Harry realised that for Pettigrew to have both hands free, he must have dropped the vial of fresh, potent Veritaserum somewhere nearby. He groped frantically with his free hand until it closed over the small bottle, and flipped the stopper out with his thumb.

He squinted down at Pettigrew. The older man was grunting with effort and panting for breath. _He may be strong but he isn't fit_thought Harry gratefully as he raised his hand. Swiftly, he tipped up the bottle and poured the entire contents into Pettigrew's open mouth, then dropped the bottle and pinched his captor's nose.

Pettigrew coughed and spat, but swallowed a large dose of the serum before he really knew what had hit him. Immediately his eyes glazed over, and his grip on Harry relaxed.

Harry pulled himself free, coughing and rubbing at his aching arm. He presented the catatonic Wormtail with a swift kick to the stomach, then turned to assess the damage to the other two combatants. Without his glasses the room was a blur, but even Harry's impaired vision was enough to reveal that there was now only one figure lying unconscious beneath the open window.

Harry looked around frantically, but Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

After ascertaining that the Dark Lord was not hiding under the bed, in the wardrobe or behind the curtains, Harry picked up a small, silver hand mirror from the dressing table and used it to look over the window ledge. If Voldemort was dangling from the linen rope, there would be nothing to stop him from cursing Harry if he stuck his head out to look down.

He wasn't there. Harry looked suspiciously at the closed bathroom door. That was the only other place he could be hiding, but Harry was more worried about Draco.

He dropped to his knees beside the unconscious form, resting a hand on his chest. The slight, but rhythmic rise and fall filled him with relief. He squinted closely but couldn't see any blood. That had to be a good sign, but as he gently stroked Draco's hair he felt a lump the size of a dragon egg beginning to swell above Draco's right ear.

Harry winced in sympathy. Merlin! You're going to have a headache when you wake up,' he murmured. He gently closed Draco's eyelids – he didn't like the vacant stare, it made Draco look dead. Then he stood and turned towards the window. If he climbed down to the next level, then made his way back up to the main suite by the stairs, he could retrieve his broomstick and escape with Draco. But he couldn't leave him here at the mercy of Voldemort even for a few minutes. Even without magic, the malignant monster could do him some serious damage in his current state. 

Besides, how many more opportunities would he have to face a virtually powerless Voldemort?

He sighed, tucking his broken glasses into his pocket. Then he gingerly flexed his abused arm and picked up the heavy vase that had knocked Draco out. He stepped to the side of the bathroom door, battling against a torrent of adrenaline. He pushed the door open, raising the vase as high as he could as his heart thumped rapidly in his throat. 

He peered into the room. There was nobody there.

Harry lowered the vase in surprise. He stepped cautiously into the bathroom and looked around the door, behind the shower curtain and in the sunken bathtub. No doubt about it, Voldemort was not there. Harry dropped the vase and frowned in confusion. This was impossible. He couldn't have disapparated or performed any kind of transformation on himself. _So how could he not be here_?

He looked around in puzzlement, but failed to spot any kind of clue. He was about to give up and go back to Draco when he caught sight of his bruised and blood-smeared face in the mirror. He ran some water in the sink and made a cursory job of cleaning himself up as he continued to think.

_How could I not have felt that he wasn't here?_ He pondered as he dabbed at his scar with a wet flannel_. I should be able to feel when he is near, and he shouldn't have been so surprised to see me because he's supposed to be able to sense me, too._

Harry rinsed his mouth out and spat a mouthful of blood into the sink. Fortunately no teeth came out with it. He probed gingerly at his nose. It was bleeding and sore but didn't appear to be broken. He went through his pockets for a tissue to blow his nose, and pulled out a scrap of parchment instead. He couldn't read it without his glasses but from the size and shape he recognised it. It was the incantation for performing the Psychic Shield.

Harry's jaw dropped as the answer hit him harder than Pettigrew's fist. _The Psychic Shield is protecting my mind from Voldemort! _Harry gave a short, incredulous laugh. _All those Occlumency lessons, which turned out to be a waste of time. All those visions and dreams last year_

_And SiriusOh, God! Sirius wouldn't have_Harry stared at his reflection in horror. If he had used the Psychic Shield in his fifth year he never would have had the vision about Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. He never would have gone there to try and save him, and ultimatelySirius would not have died.

Harry felt a fresh wave of grief and remorse, and helpless tears trickled down his face, mingling with the last smears of blood. He allowed himself a few moments of misery before coughing away the lump in his throat and washing his face again. There was nothing to be gained from What if?' He had already driven himself nearly insane with What if?' _What if I'd remembered about the two-way mirror earlier? What if I hadn't pried into Snape's Pensieve? What if I'd worked harder at Occlumency?_

The Psychic shield might have saved Sirius, had he known about it. But if he had managed to protect his mind, Arthur Weasley would be dead. It didn't make the loss of his godfather any easier to bear, but at least it was a sane thought to cling to for comfort.

Regret would get him nowhere. Nobody could ever have suspected that an obscure spell, created by a notoriously inept wizard, could be the means to protect him from Voldemort's powerful Legilimency. It was nobody's fault – it was just another cruel twist of fate. 

As if to prove that he believed it, he blew his nose on the scrap of parchment, then threw it down the toilet. He pulled a fluffy towel from the rail to dry his face.

He never got that far. Instead he stood there dripping, and stared in disbelief at the wall behind the towel rail. One of the walnut panels had been slid aside to reveal an opening. Harry dropped to his hands and knees and inspected it. The gap was wide enough for a fairly thin person to squeeze through, but that was not its purpose. Harry could see a shiny metal slide sloping steeply down into the dark cavity behind the wall. There was a dank, musty smell wafting on a warm draught, and Harry realised with an incoherent noise of disbelief that he had just found the house-elves' laundry chute.

He sat heavily on the marble floor and rubbed his forehead, for lack of anything more constructive to do. _A laundry chute? I had the chance to defeat the most evil wizard in the world with nothing more than some heavy chinaware, and he escapeddown a laundry chute?_

For the second time that morning, Harry gave a slightly mad laugh. The day surely couldn't get any more surreal. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stimulate his brain into devising his next move. His first impulse was to climb into the chute and go after Voldemort before he could get away, but something told him that would be unimaginably stupid. Throwing himself down a dark hole, in which, he knew perfectly well, his arch-nemesis was hiding, was not a sensible option.

Clambering unsteadily to his feet, he made a decision. The time had come to get himself and Draco out of this madhouse, before Voldemort could make a reappearance. He staggered into the bedroom and headed for the window. There was no time to waste. Voldemort could be on his way even now

But something made him stop before climbing onto the window ledge. Leaving Draco lying there unconscious and helpless was not something his conscience would take lightly. He crouched next to the insensible Slytherin and lightly touched his cheek. 

I'll be right back, I promise' he murmered. Then he picked up Draco's designer cloak and spread it over him like a blanket. Somehow, knowing that he had done something – even just making sure that Draco would be warm – made him feel better. 

He stood up, placed his wand between his teeth, and clambered out of the window, keeping his eyes on Draco as he lowered himself down the linen rope, until he was out of sight. 

It was slow going – Harry hadn't attempted to climb up or down a rope since P.E. classes at his Muggle junior school, and he hadn't been very good at it even then. Fortunately, his Quidditch experience meant that he had no qualms about looking down from a height, and he managed to manoeuvre himself down to the window of the room below without incident.

He clung to the rope with one hand while he retrieved his wand and tapped the window frame with it. 

_Alohomora_,' he said, and watched with relief as the handle turned on the inside. He pried the window open and climbed into the deserted room. He performed a _Reparo_ spell on his glasses and made his way out of the bedroom, to the main suite. It looked the same as the room above, only slightly less lavish. The furniture was comfortable-looking but more modern, and the chandeliers were smaller. 

Harry gripped his wand tighter and jogged to the double doors at the end of the room. A quick _Alohomora_ spell unlocked them, and he cautiously poked his head out into the corridor. Nobody was there. Turning left, he made his way to a large landing, decorated with a number of magical portraits. The occupants seemed pleasantly surprised to see him – they didn't usually get visitors at this time of year, after all. A pretty witch holding a bunch of daffodils giggled and greeted him as he sprinted up the stairs, but he didn't pause. He knew better than to talk to strange portraits.

Reaching the next landing, Harry turned right and counted the doors of the rooms as he passed. If the layout of the top floor was the same as the one below, Draco would be in the third suite on his right. 

He stopped, panting, outside the double doors. He couldn't have taken more than a few minutes. Surely Voldemort couldn't have got here before him? He pressed an ear to the door and held his breath. There was no sound from within. If Voldemort had arrived and begun expressing his feelings about Harry's escape, he was being very quiet about it.

His heart beating so hard he thought it would break a rib, Harry gingerly tried the door handle. Either it wasn't locked, or it was enchanted to only open from the outside, like the bedroom door. The handle turned with a faint click.

He pushed the door and stepped into the suite, peering around in the dim light of early dawn. He could just make out the familiar shape of his broomstick on the floor beneath the chesterfield. Just a few more minutes and he'd be away, and Draco with him

He took a few steps, then halted abruptly as his heart leapt into his mouth. A figure stepped out of the shadows behind him and seized him by his arm. He spun round in panicand found himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.


	22. Chapter 22

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

It's still Slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

Thanks to June for the beta.

***

The door swung shut behind Harry with a forbidding _clunk_. Lucius glared down at him, squeezing his arm tightly. Harry stared back in silence, breathing fast and gripping his wand. He considered attempting to summon his broomstick. Even if he didn't have time to mount it and fly away, with any luck it would whack Lucius on the back of the head. However, before he could collect his thoughts enough to remember the spell, his captor spoke:

'I might have known.' 

Harry raised an eyebrow defiantly but didn't reply. Lucius continued in a low, menacing tone.

'Perhaps you can shed some light on a perplexing matter, Mr Potter. I attempted to rejoin the Dark Lord after an exhausting session of _Vita Perpetua_ duty, only to make a startling discovery.' He gestured to the magic-proofed room with a slight flick of his silver-blond head. 'I found my son unconscious, my comrade insensible, and the Dark Lord…missing. There was no clue to suggest what had happened, but I observed at once that the whole situation positively reeked of Harry Potter…' He paused to fix Harry with an accusing look. 'And here you are.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. From somewhere he managed to summon his voice. 'I don't believe for one second that you don't know where Voldemort is!' he snapped.

Lucius looked startled for a moment, as he usually did when anyone was brazen enough to speak Voldemort's name. Then he leaned forward, sneering into Harry's face. 'The Dark Lord has magical methods at his disposal that a mere schoolboy can't even imagine,' he snarled. 'It was inevitable that he would escape from your pathetic little fracas, no matter what brilliant plan you might think you had concocted.'

'Yes, especially since he had a convenient laundry chute at his disposal!' retorted Harry without thinking. Then he mentally kicked himself. If Lucius really hadn't known where Voldemort was, he did now. He held his breath.

Lucius' face froze. He released his grip on Harry's arm and took a step back, surveying Harry speculatively. His expression was completely unreadable. Harry fingered his wand nervously.

'Sometimes the simplest methods are the most effective, but also the hardest to recognise.' Lucius spoke quietly, his voice no longer threatening, but thoughtful. 'Of course, I suspected that you - with your deceptively cunning little brain - would think of it. That is why, when I undertook the magic-proofing of the second bedchamber, I placed the same wards and glyphs of resistance around the laundry basement, unbeknownst to the Dark Lord.'

Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief. Lucius smoothed his hair pensively. His face was an unreadable mask. 'I was looking forward to impressing the Dark Lord with my foresight. You were to end up imprisoned in a cold, dark basement, still unable to use magic. It seems that my plan…backfired somewhat.'

Harry gulped. 'S…so, Voldemort is down there, trapped…until…'

'Until someone opens the door from the outside, yes.'

Harry released his grip on his wand slightly. If Lucius was going to dispose of him, it seemed unlikely that he would be telling him all this. It just seemed rather hard to believe. 'But Voldemort's so…even with the wards and stuff… surely he can…'

Lucius interrupted him again. 'Even a wizard as powerful as my master has to draw on the Earth's natural magic in order to perform spells. The wards warp and deflect that magic so that it is inaccessible. He is no more capable of magic in that basement than I would be. Or you, for that matter.'

Harry wasn't convinced. 'So how come nobody has ever thought of this before? If Voldemort's power can be reduced to nothing by a few simple wards…'

Lucius looked outraged. 'I never said they were simple, Potter. They were developed through years of painstaking research among the Dark Lord's own servants. Nobody has ever tried to use them against him because none of his enemies have the knowledge to perform them, and none of his followers would want to imprison their master. They were intended for you.'

Harry wasn't sure he could take this in. 'So…so if you don't let him out…'

'Oh I'm afraid that is not an option, Potter. I am still his servant and I have no wish to leave him imprisoned. Besides, in a few weeks the house elves will return to prepare the hotel for the Christmas Holiday season. If I don't open the basement door, they certainly will, and I would rather not be hunted down by a furious, vengeful and very, very hungry Dark Lord.'

Harry glanced once again at his Firebolt, uncertain whether to make a break for it. It seemed for all the world as though Malfoy did not intend to murder him on the spot, but it went against every fibre of Harry's being to trust him. The usually helpful little voice in his head was being annoyingly quiet.

Gathering his senses, he murmured, 'So what now?'

Lucius took a deep breath and let his gaze drop to the floor. 'I would have thought that was obvious,' he sighed. 'My son is lying helpless on the floor of that bedchamber. When the Dark Lord is released, Draco will be interrogated and executed. My master does not tolerate betrayal. Even if I present him with your head on a plate, Draco will not be forgiven.

'Naturally, I would not be averse to incapacitating you, then reviving Draco and sending him back to school on your broomstick – which I have of course noticed despite your brilliant hiding-place. Under the sofa, Potter, _honestly_!' Harry glared at him. 'That is what I _would_ do,' he paused to look meaningfully at Harry, 'if I thought for one moment that Draco would go without you.'

Harry's heart lurched in panic. _He knows! _He felt his face begin to colour and started to stammer nervously. He had no idea what he was trying to say, but it didn't matter. Lucius was ignoring him.

'So you see, Potter, my only option is to risk the Dark Lord's wrath and allow you to escape, provided that you take Draco with you. In fact, it seems that by seducing my son you have managed to ensure your own survival…' he gave Harry a hint of an ironic smile, '…how very _Slytherin_ of you!'

Harry tried to quiet his thundering heart for long enough to register what Lucius had said. He managed to summon the presence of mind to reply, with a slight quaver in his voice, 'And by allowing me to escape in order to save Draco's life, you are placing your own life at risk. How very _Gryffindor_ of you!'

Lucius stared at him incredulously for a moment, then let out a short bark of laughter. 

'_Touché_, Potter,' he replied. He surveyed Harry in amused silence for a moment before casting one last glance towards the second bedroom. Then he stepped forward, waving his wand at the massive iron door handles with a murmured incantation. He opened the doors and stepped into the hallway, before turning to speak to Harry once more.

'It will not take me long to reach the basement and release the Dark Lord. You have little more than five minutes.'

To Harry it seemed as though there was a lot more that Lucius wanted to say, but whether it was because he was out of time, or because he couldn't think of the right words, he merely nodded resignedly and closed the doors.

***

Harry began to wonder if Draco's repeated abuse of the _Somnio Salvus_ potion hadn't given him brain damage after all. He turned on his heel and dashed across the room to retrieve his broomstick before anything else could hold up his escape. He opened the French windows and set the Firebolt hovering on the balcony – that way it would be easier to mount if he failed to rouse Draco and had to carry him.

As he stepped back into the room he noticed that the door to the Master bedroom had been left open. He was fairly sure that if anyone was still in there, Lucius would have mentioned it, but still he crept forward silently and peered around the doorframe to make sure. 

What he saw made him realise with a jolt of nausea that Lucius _had_ mentioned something about this room…he had said he'd been engaged in an exhausting session of _Vita Perpetua_ duty. Harry had been too panicked to wonder what that meant, but now it all became clear.

The whimpering, shaking form of Bellatrix Lestrange lay on the floor near the bed. Judging by her awkward position, both of her legs were broken. Her robes were torn and bloodstained, and her dark eyes seemed to swim in and out of focus as she looked up at him.

__

Vita Perpetua, thought Harry. _Prolonging life… _He took a few steps towards her. _No doubt, just to inflict more torture_, he thought grimly. He gazed down at her with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. The woman who had murdered his godfather now lay helplessly at his feet, hovering on the brink of madness. It seemed a fitting punishment after what she had done to Frank and Alice Longbottom.

She seemed to recognise him. Her eyes widened as she looked at him and she stammered quietly, choking on her own voice as she tried to say something. Harry suddenly found himself filled with burning rage. She had no right to even try to speak to him. How could she think he would be interested in anything she had to say? He seized his wand and pointed it directly into her face.

But even as he tried to concentrate all his anger, all his hatred, all his grief over the loss of Sirius, he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it. He couldn't bear to imagine what his godfather would say if he were there to see him contemplating the killing curse.

The hand holding his wand shook as he tried to decide how to feel. His face contorted with fury but he couldn't suppress his growing doubt. He lowered his wand and turned away from her. 

Hatred burned throughout his entire body. He had sworn to himself that he would avenge his godfather, but now that the opportunity presented itself, it was not that simple. Sirius wouldn't have wanted him to become a murderer for his sake. _But it wouldn't really be murder – look at the state of her! She's virtually dead already._

He struggled with a tangle of conflicting thoughts.

__

She deserves to die.

No, she deserves to suffer in pain and madness.

But Voldemort is the reason she's in this state. She's just another of his victims.

She killed Sirius!

But only because she was Voldemort's agent…

_Voldemort was the one who killed my parents, _thought Harry. _Voldemort was the reason why Sirius died. Voldemort is the one who wants me, and Draco, dead. Voldemort is the real enemy; he always has been…_

Gritting his teeth in frustration he turned towards the door, returning his wand to his pocket. As he did so, he heard something clink against it, and slipped his hand into his pocket to see what it was.

With a flicker of realisation he withdrew a small potion bottle - the same bottle that he had confiscated from Draco shortly after his arrival. He closed his hand tightly around it as he turned back to look at Bellatrix.

__

…and Voldemort will be without another loyal servant if I give her the means to take her own life.

Harry didn't pause to talk himself out of it. He uncorked the vial and held it out to Bellatrix. Her hand shook so violently that he had to close her fingers around it so that it wouldn't fall.

He stood and looked down at her, his rage subsiding. She was a pathetic sight, battered and trembling as she struggled to raise the vial to her lips. As he turned to leave, he thought he heard her murmur something semi-coherent. He couldn't make it out but he glanced back at her.

'S…Si…' she stammered.

'Sirius?' he said incredulously. 'My godfather, Sirius? Your cousin? The one you _murdered? _Is that what you're trying to say?'

He was shocked to notice a tear sliding down her cheek. 

He couldn't be sure, but it rather looked as though she was trying to tell him that she regretted what had happened…if it were possible for such a vicious, soulless she-devil to feel something as human as regret.

Sympathy was somewhat beyond his capability, but Harry felt an unexpected pang of sorrow. Not for the wretched creature who lay breathing her last breaths at his feet, but for everyone like her - everyone who had suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

'Look…' he faltered. 'Just…apologise to Sirius, not me.' He gulped and tried to fight the rising lump in his throat. The pain of losing Sirius hadn't felt this raw since the day he saw him fall through the arch in the Death Chamber. 

'And tell him I said hi…' his voice began to shake and he swallowed hard. Then something peculiar happened. Harry felt a strange sensation, like a block of ice beginning to crack and melt in his stomach. He wondered if it might be forgiveness…or something like it. He would never forget that she had taken the only family he had ever known from him…but now she was going to die. He just didn't think he had the energy to hate her any more. She was nothing to him now, and soon she would be nothing at all, to anyone.

In his over-emotional state he didn't know how to begin wondering whether he was doing the right thing. But he didn't have time to dwell on it. In a matter of minutes Voldemort would be free again and on the warpath. It was time to go.

He left the bedroom and pulled the door behind him. He just had time to see Bellatrix finally manage to raise the potion bottle. She gulped the contents, her eyes never leaving his as he closed the door.

***

Harry took a couple of deep, shaky breaths and forced his feet to move. He crossed the room to the other bedroom and opened the door. Draco was still motionless on the floor, and Wormtail was sitting near the wardrobe, gazing blankly into space and dribbling. 

Harry propped the door open with a small bronze statue of Vera the Voluptuous – he didn't want to even think about the door closing behind him again.

He crouched beside Draco and shook him tentatively. 'Hey, wake up. It's time to go,' he said anxiously.

There was no response. Harry gently lifted Draco's left eyelid, only to find the pupil fixed and dilated. He swore softly, then lifted Draco's head off the ground. He placed one arm around his shoulders, and pulled him to a sitting position. Then he put his other arm under Draco's legs and, with a grunt of effort, stood up…for about half a second.

He dropped to his knees, the unconscious Draco landing heavily across his lap. 'Merlin!' he gasped. 'How much do you weigh?'

As he struggled to free his legs and stood up, he marvelled inwardly at the way stories and films always made it look so easy. The hero would sweep in, hack a few villains to bits, gather his beloved into his arms and vanish majestically into the sunset.

__

Of course, it would help if my beloved were frail and waif-like, as all good stories recommend, he thought as he thrust his arms under Draco's, and staggered backwards, half-carrying, half-dragging him to the open door. _I'm glad he's not, though…_he found himself thinking. He mentally scolded himself – now was not the time to be admiring Draco's physique.

He manoeuvred said physique through the doorway, then drew his wand and aimed it at Draco.

'_Ennervate!_' he said.

With a sigh of relief he watched as pale golden eyelashes began to twitch. Draco's jaw moved as he swallowed, then he frowned slightly. Harry reached out and absently brushed away a stray lock of hair from his face. 'Are you alright?' he asked softly.

Draco's eyes opened slightly. He squinted up at Harry with a grimace.

'Ow,' he said.

Harry smiled sympathetically. 'I should say! You took a knock to the head that would have laid out a troll.'

Draco gingerly sat up, wincing as he turned his head to look around. 'What happened? Where'd they go? It's light – how long have I been out?'

Harry helped him to his feet impatiently. 'Never mind all that. They'll be back any minute so you're going to have to move. Can you walk?'

Draco looked at him doubtfully, then took a few steps. 'Yes,' he replied, looking surprised. Then he staggered slightly and Harry had to catch him to stop him from falling.

'It's a good job we don't have to walk home,' murmured Harry, pulling Draco's arm around his shoulders and supporting him as they made their way to the balcony. 'Do you think you can manage to keep one leg each side of a broomstick?'

Draco nodded, then put a hand to his head as if to stop the movement. 'Ow. Owowow that hurts.'

'You haven't got time to hurt! Get on, quickly!' Harry didn't have his watch on, but the encounter with Bellatrix and the slow business of dragging Draco out of the bedroom meant that it had to be at least five minutes since Lucius had left. Voldemort would be bursting through the door at any moment, and Harry doubted that the experience of being locked in the basement would have mellowed his mood.

Draco seated himself on Harry's Firebolt and shivered in the early morning breeze. 'I'm cold,' he complained.

'Is there no end to your moaning?' said Harry in annoyance, but he felt a pang of protective affection. He sprinted back to collect Draco's cloak, which had fallen off during the struggle to get him out of the room. He retrieved it, then paused briefly in the doorway. He looked down at the vacant expression of Peter Pettigrew - yet another Dark Wizard against whom he bore a personal grudge lay helpless at his feet. He wondered if his wand would work, if he tried to hex him from outside the doorway, but decided that it wasn't worth the delay to find out. 

As he was about to leave, another idea occurred to him…

'Hey, Peter! Why exactly do you work for Voldemort?' he said loudly.

Peter's face remained blank, but he began to talk. His mouth seemed to move independently of his brain – as if it were being operated by an invisible puppeteer.

'I work for he-who-must-not-be-named because I am afraid to leave his service. I was tempted by promises of power and wealth, and the protection of his circle of followers. I don't believe in his principles. I don't want to hurt people any more. I only do what he says because if I don't he will kill me….'

Harry snorted and turned on his heel, leaving Wormtail babbling to the empty room. He'd swallowed enough Veritaserum to keep him spouting off like that for hours. Voldemort would hear a thing or two of interest, that was for sure, then he could deal with him as he saw fit.

Harry handed Draco his cloak and climbed onto the Firebolt in front of him.

'Who were you talking to?' asked Draco, fastening his cloak.

'Nobody,' muttered Harry, meaning it wholeheartedly.

Draco frowned. 'I heard voices, I thought _he_ had come back. I almost went in to see if you were ok.'

Harry smiled. 'I'm fine. Now hold on tight.' He felt Draco's arms wind around his waist, and a single warm throb radiated through his entire body. He kicked off from the balcony and swooped out over the hotel grounds.

'I just left Voldemort a calling card, that's all…' he murmured, more to himself than to Draco. _Another one…_he thought, imagining the lifeless form of Bellatrix Lestrange, waiting for her master in the other room.

He shivered. Draco adjusted his cloak, wrapping it around Harry and leaning against his back to share his warmth. Harry hadn't been feeling cold, but he didn't mind in the slightest. He pressed back against Draco and sighed contentedly as they soared over the wild, rugged hills.

He could have imagined it, but beneath the roar of the wind in his ears, he thought he heard a howl of rage echo through the valley behind them.


	23. Chapter 23

Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

It's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it.

This is my favourite chapter. *Grin*

Dedicated to June for the beta, and to all who have read, reviewed and begged for a snogging scene...

***

The sun was fully up; it painted the landscape a pale gold, punctuated with the deep shadows of early morning. The bright light burned Draco's tired eyes and he closed them, turning his face to the sun so that its soft Autumnal rays warmed his face against the sharp wind.

He was battling with a most peculiar mix of emotions. Echoes of the conversation with his father still rang in his ears, occasionally causing a painful twisting sensation in his heart. He was vaguely suspicious that the grief of that final parting had not really hit him yet – it had been largely masked by fear at the time, and now he was just so swamped by relief

He focused on that positive feeling for a moment. _Reliefit's all over, _he thought, and he wasn't just thinking of the ordeal at the _Copernicus_. The knots of dread that had slowly been forming inside him over the last few weeks were gone. He no longer needed to worry about announcing his change of faith - it was done. He also no longer needed to agonise over what to do about Harry and the _Somnio Salvus_ potion. That was all out in the open, too.

He yawned contentedly and rested his head against Harry's back, holding him tighter in a brief, but sincere hug. He felt Harry's hand squeezing his own in silent reply, and a comforting glow spread through his insides like hot Butterbeer. He sighed and relaxed, wishing he could give in to the overwhelming tiredness; but it probably wasn't wise to fall asleep on a broomstick, even when somebody else was steering. 

He forced his eyes open and squinted into the cloudless sky, watching a few birds gliding across the clear blue backdrop. Then he let his gaze drop to the undulating hills below, mesmerised by his and Harry's shadow racing along over rocks and valleys. He frowned slightly – something bothered him about that.

He sat up abruptly, upsetting the balance of the broom so that it wobbled alarmingly. Harry righted it, then looked over his shoulder in concern.

What's wrong?' he shouted over the roar of wind.

Draco pointed frantically at the sky. There's no cloud cover! We shouldn't be flying; it's broad daylight. We'll be seen!'

Harry's eyes opened wide and he swore emphatically. He gestured to Draco to hold on, then leaned forward and pitched into a steep dive. Draco felt his stomach lurch. He was used to sharp manoeuvres on a broomstick, but only when he was in control. He clung to Harry and held his breath as he watched a sunny, green patch of hillside getting rapidly closer. Then he felt his feet hit the ground hard and he tumbled off the rear end of the broom, landing sprawled on his back. 

Harry skidded a few yards along the ground before sliding off sideways and staggering to find his balance. He turned and jogged back to Draco, helping him to his feet with an apologetic smile.

Sorry – I've never landed a broom with a passenger before. Forgot to compensate. You ok?' he asked sheepishly.

Yeah. How about next time you let me drive?' suggested Draco brightly, dusting himself down.

Harry giggled and clutched his Firebolt protectively. Oh, I don't know about that. Are you insured?'

What's in-shored?'

Never mind.' Harry squinted up at the steadily brightening sky. So now what?'

Draco shrugged. I don't know. I suppose we wait until it's safe to take off again. Maybe it'll cloud over later on,' he said doubtfully.

So we might have to just hang around here until it gets dark?' moaned Harry.

Either that or we start walking,' sighed Draco.

Harry gave him a withering look. Ah well,' he sighed, look on the bright side. At least you realised while we're still in the arse-end of nowhere. Just imagine if we'd started flying over Manchester! It'd spoil our dramatic escape a bit, if we got arrested by the Ministry!'

Draco frowned. What if we've already been spotted?'

We haven't. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement always seems to know straight away if I break a law. We'd be swamped with owls by now if anyone had seen us. Pity, really,' he added wistfully. If there's one thing we could really do with it's an owl.'

I don't knowI think I'd prefer a Portkey to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. His stomach growled in agreement and they both laughed, but suddenly Harry's face froze and he pointed at the sky.

Oh, hell!' he exclaimed. Looks like I spoke too soon. This could be from the Ministry, to tell us that we're under arrest, or at least expelled.'

I don't think so,' replied Draco, squinting up at the bright sky. It looks like a school owl.'

Sure enough, as the bird flapped its way towards Harry, the Hogwarts crest came into view, on the back of the letter it was carrying. Draco extended his arm for the owl to land on, and Harry opened the letter. 

It's from Lupin!' he exclaimed.

Lupin? The _werewolf_?' replied Draco fearfully.

but don't say it like that! He's on our side,' scolded Harry. Listen to this

_Dear Harry, _

_Ron has just informed us that you left the castle in the middle of the night. We can only assume that you have gone to find Draco. If this note reaches you before you find him, STAY WHERE YOU ARE. We are sending out more Aurors to look for you. PLEASE don't go walking into Voldemort's hands. If you know where Draco is we can recover him but leave it to the professionals. If you can, let us know where you are by return owl and we will come and get you. Don't do anything stupid. Hope you're alright, _

_Remus Lupin_'

Harry looked at Draco sheepishly. Oops. Too late' he giggled.

Draco grinned, taking the letter from him and turning it blank side up. I don't suppose you've got a quill?' he asked doubtfully. Harry was dressed only in a shirt and jeans, having left his mutilated cloak dangling from the hotel window. He didn't look as if he had any useful stationery concealed about his person. However, he shifted uncomfortably at Draco's query, before reaching inside his shirt and producing a swan-feather quill.

Draco stared in surprise, recognising it immediately. You've been carrying that around with you? You are just too cute for words,' he said in disbelief.

Harry blushed. I just brought it for luck,' he muttered. Anyway it's no good to us – we haven't got any ink,' he added, trying to divert the conversation away from his own sentimentality.

Draco winked at him and groped in his pocket, withdrawing a small glass bottle. Harry caught a glimpse of an all-too-familiar logo on the label. 

I don't believe youyou stole the ink-bottle from the hotel room?' gasped Harry.

I didn't steal it! Lookit says _complimentary_ right there. They expect you to take them! I got the toiletries, too. I would have had the bathrobes if we hadn't been travelling light.'

In a race against time to escape with our livesyou stopped to steal the soap?'

I'm a Slytherin! I'm resourceful, okay? Now do you want to write this letter or shall I do it?'

Harry gave him an exasperated look, then chuckled in spite of himself, shaking his head as he accepted the bottle. He scrawled a note to Lupin, giving a rough estimate of their position and reassurances that they were both perfectly fine, then he folded it and gave it to the owl. He stroked its head and it hooted softly, taking off and soaring northwards as Harry and Draco watched.

How long do you think it'll take to reach the castle?' asked Harry.

Hours, I expect,' said Draco gloomily. I'm starving – do you think there are any Muggle café's around here?'

Maybe. Got any Muggle money on you?'

Ah.'

Me neither.'

***

I hope that owl doesn't take too long,' murmured Harry with a slight frown. He had been pacing around fretfully ever since the bird had departed. He kept trying to look at his watch, which he wasn't wearing. I don't want Lupin and Dumbledore and everyone to worry for no reason – they'll be frantic by now. And there's already a team of Aurors out looking for you.'

For me? Really?' asked Draco. Somehow it had never occurred to him that anyone other than Harry might try to find him.

Oh. Of course - you don't know about anything that happened after the Portkey episode'

Harry lowered himself to the ground and stretched out in the weak sunshine, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he related the discussions following the botched abduction. Draco sank to his knees and listened in silence as he explained about Snape and the Dark Mark, Moody's search party and Professor Flitwick – who was probably still busy trying to design a long-range locating charm from scratch. Draco felt strangely choked. 

_So this is how it feels to really be part of something. To be trusted and valued, and treated with the type of respect that is earned instead of inherited._

He struggled to think of something to say, then struggled even more to actually say it.

So – those Aurors. They've gone out to search Voldemort's known hideouts, where there might still be Death Eaters at largethey're risking their livesfor me?'

Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. Well, yeah. That's how it works.'

That's how it works_on the good side_,' added Draco. Harry nodded. He was smiling, but Draco thought it looked like a rather sad smile. What is it?' he asked, softly.

Harry sighed deeply and inched closer to Draco. I think you ought to knowthere's someone else who's risking his life for you. The reason we both got out of there alive isWell it's your father. He let me go so I could get you out.'

Draco gaped at Harry, stunned into silence. _Father let Harry goto save me...? _He began to stammer softly. but he could have handed you over to Voldemort. Oh, Merlin_Voldemort_! When he realises what Father did'

Harry placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Maybe he won't realise. He was locked in a magic-proof basement the whole time – he had no way of knowing. Plus, when he gets out he'll find one of his disciples dead, and another one calmly droning on about how he hates being a Death Eater and just wants to go home. I think that ought to distract him for a while. Besides, I'm sure he'll be pleased with your dad for letting him out'

Draco wasn't convinced, but his doubts about his Father's ability to get away with what he had done were nothing compared to the shock that he had done it at all. After the history that he had pieced together from the Daily Prophet archive, he had thought that nothing in the world could ever induce his father to work against the Dark Lord.

Draco stared blindly through rising tears. Harry put his arm around him, murmuring something in a concerned tone, but Draco didn't hear him. It was all too muchthe final parting from his father had been bad enough but now there was the possibility that his father would die. _For mebecause of me_

It had all started with the _Somnio Salvus_ potion, because he had wanted to make his father proud. Finding out about the part Lucius had played in Voldemort's rise to power, deciding to join Dumbledore in the approaching conflictfalling for Harry_everything that had happened_it all came down to the potion. It had seemed like such a cunning idea at the time

But no matter what was in store for his father, he couldn't bring himself to regret making the potion. Deep down, below the shock and grief, below the confusion, deeper even than the heartfelt wish that he had knocked Harry out with his Herbology textbook to stop him going to Hogsmeadewas the solid warmth of the knowledge that he had done the right thing. It lay firmly in his heart where nobody could touch it, and he felt strangely safe because it was there. Not safe from harm, or from danger, but safe from doubt.

He gazed at Harry through his tears and forced a few words past the lump in his throat. This must be how it feels to be you,' he croaked. Harry gave him a puzzled smile. Of course – he couldn't know what he meant, and Draco was in no condition to explain. He rested his head against Harry's shoulder and allowed all the bottled-up emotions of the last few daysno, _weeks_to escape as quiet, weary sobs. Harry said nothing, but held him until the grief subsided, and then for a little longer.

***

Some time later, Harry and Draco were trudging to the top of the nearest hill. Harry had decided that it would be easier to spot their rescuers, when they arrived, if they had a good view of the surrounding area. However it was quite a tall hill and they were both very tired. They paused when they reached a part-collapsed old stone wall, and sat down for a rest.

Draco looked longingly at Harry's Firebolt.

Such a waste – a perfectly good, top-of-the-range broomstick that is absolutely no use to us whatsoever. The cruel irony here is that we haven't seen a soul on these god-forsaken hills. We could have been flying all this time and nobody would have seen,' he moaned.

Yes, but if we _had_ flown, no doubt the place would have been crawling with Muggles. It's called Murphy's Law,' sighed Harry.

Who's Murphy?'

Some complete bastard.'

Draco snorted, then occupied himself by probing gingerly at the bump on the side of his head. that still hurts. That watery eyed little gitI wish I'd had a chance to return the favour before we left,' he growled.

At least he didn't get you full in the face,' said Harry, carefully prodding at his sore nose. I thought my whole head was going to explode.' He turned to face Draco, who appeared to notice for the first time that he had a cut lip and the beginnings of a splendid bruise across one cheek. He winced sympathetically, tracing Harry's abused cheekbone lightly with one finger. Then his expression changed to thoughtful recollection, and he absently touched his own cheekbone for a moment.

How did you do it?' he asked.

Do what?' said Harry, confused.

Keep me out of your dream. You said you'd found a way, and I _know_ it worked – but you didn't exactly give me a chance to enquire further.'

Oh,' said Harry, taking a moment to adjust to the unexpected topic of conversation. It was a spell I found in a journal. I didn't really expect it to work; it was invented by Barnabus Botch.'

Draco gave a short, incredulous laugh. You're joking! That old fraud? I wouldn't have thought one of his spells would protect you from so much as a bad smell!'

I didn't, either,' admitted Harry. But it worked only too well' Thoughts of Occlumency lessonsthe Hall of Propheciesand Siriusthreatened to return, but he pushed them aside. One day he would tell Draco about all that, but this was not the time.

Shaking himself slightly he smiled at Draco and drew his wand. Anyway, I only used it because I was angry with you. I didn't knowwell, I didn't trust you. But I trust you now' He pointed his wand at his own chest in demonstration.

_Finite Incantatem._' His eyes never left Draco's as the air around him shimmered like a heat haze, then settled back to normal.

Draco's eyes widened as he asked, So now if I were toI'd be able to...?'

Harry nodded.

I won't, though! I should never have, in the first place,' Draco added hurriedly.

I'm glad you did,' said Harry quietly.

Draco seemed to struggle to find his voice. Oh?' he choked.

Harry cleared his throat nervously. I mean, for one thing I wouldn't have been able to find you without it. I, ummI used the last of it to get into your dream last night. Sorry about that.'

Draco recovered his voice. Oh, right. That's ok. I mean that's more than ok – you used it to save my life.' He coughed and ran his fingers through his hair. It's fine, I won't need it any more anyway.' 

you won't,' confirmed Harry softly, praying that Draco would grasp his meaning. Then there was a heavy silence, loaded with expectation.

Draco stared at him as his words sank in. Oh! I uh...I won't?' he gulped.

No,' murmured Harry, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Draco's amazed stare gave way to a tender smile and Harry smiled back, uncertain what else to do. Draco inched closer until they were almost touching

Harry's heart began to pound as he realised that Draco was going to kiss him. He began to breathe faster and all his muscles tensed. When Draco put his arm around him he nearly jumped out of his skin. _Get a grip, Potterit's not like you haven't done this before. Just like in the dreamskeep calmok. I can do thisit'll be just the same_He closed his eyes. _Oh God it's better! It's much betterit's real_

He ceased to care about the difference between dreams and reality, forgetting every experience he had shared with Draco under the influence of the _Somnio Salvus_ potion. Gloriously intense as it had seemed at the time, it faded into pallid insignificance as Draco slid his fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, lightly touching his lips to Harry's with a sigh.

The world seemed to dissolve around Harry as he wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer. He stroked Draco's mouth more firmly with his own, then gasped with pleasure as Draco planted short, soft kisses over his bottom lip.

Suddenly shy, he parted his lips slightly and wondered if Draco would mind ifno, he doesn't mindDraco's tongue sought out his own and they met with a burst of arousal that made Harry's breath catch in his throat. He slid his hands down Draco's back, pulling him onto his lap and kissing him desperately. Draco was moaning softly and grinding against him – it was nearly unbearable. Harry had never known urgency like it. He tentatively began to work on Draco's belt buckle, throwing his head back in bliss as Draco licked and sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck.

He fumbled with Draco's zip and managed to get it open at about the same time as Draco yanked his shirt half-off and started biting his shoulder. He tugged at Draco's hair and pulled him close for another kiss, gently sliding his other hand under Draco's waistband as he did so. He felt Draco's hands frantically tug at his own zip and then

_POP!'_

Both boys froze, gazing at each other in horror. Slowly they turned towards the source of the soundto find Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks gaping at them speechlessly.

Tonks' face began to quiver with suppressed amusement, but Remus was the first to find his voice.

Well, I'm glad to see you're alright,' he said casually. Tonks gave a faint snort but managed to keep a straight face. Kingsley had to turn away, though. 

When you're readywe'll just be around the other side of the hill preparing a Portkey,' said Lupin, trying to look anywhere except directly at Harry and Draco. With that they walked away. Harry thought he heard muffled hoots of laughter as soon as they disappeared behind a rocky outcrop.

He swiftly withdrew his hand from Draco's boxers and looked at him sheepishly. 

It must have been an express owl,' he said apologetically.

Draco looked more disappointed than embarrassed as he climbed off Harry's lap and began to reassemble himself. Hmm,' he agreed thoughtfully. Either that, or this is the work of that Murphy person'

Their peals of laughter combined with those of the concealed members of the Order of the Phoenix, and rang out across the deserted valley.


	24. Chapter 24

Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Massive hugs to my beta-readers - June, Christa and Sean.

This is the last chapter. *Sob*. I hope you like it. Oh, and in case you have managed to read this far without noticing, this is a slash fic! If you don't want to squeal with joy at the idea of boys kissing boys...this will not be your cup of tea so please don't read it. I don't want to upset anybody.

***

It was some time around midday when Harry and Draco arrived back at Hogwarts. The Portkey delivered them to the corridor outside the Headmaster's office, where Professor McGonagall was anxiously waiting to meet them.

Oh! Thank Goodness, there you are,' she exclaimed as Harry staggered to regain his balance. Go straight on up – Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak to both of you immediately.'

Draco looked horrified. Now? But I haven't eaten since yesterday morning! Can't we have lunch first?' he pleaded.

Professor McGonagall looked sympathetic but didn't budge. I'm afraid not. Professor Dumbledore is anxious to hear what happened to you both. It is likely that your information will be of great importance. I will arrange for the House elves to bring you some lunch. Jelly Baby!'

With that the Gargoyle slid aside to reveal the moving staircase, and Harry and Draco stepped onto it. As they ascended, Harry smiled at Draco with a helpless shrug. He had been hoping to pick up at the point where they had been interrupted on the hillside, but it looked as though it would be a while before they could be alone.

***

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk with a weary sigh, then looked at the two boys gravely. 

It is a very great relief to have the two of you back,' he said quietly. Naturally there has been a great deal of concern for your safety, and not just from the staff. Harry, I believe you will find Mr Weasley and Miss Granger in some distress. They appear to be under the impression that you flew off in a rage because you were angry with them about something.'

Dumbledore kept his face carefully blank and looked innocently at the ceiling, but not before Harry noticed the slight twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles.

Harry relaxed and suppressed a smile. It wouldn't do to appear frivolous when they were supposed to be imparting information of grave importance.

Dumbledore returned his gaze to the two boys. You have both shown admirable measures of bravery and determination – of course, I have come to expect nothing less,' he added with a smile. However, in my capacity as your Headmaster, and as the person responsible for seeing to it that you receive appropriate guidance to serve you in your future lives, it is my duty to remind you that courage and determination are all the more valuable when moderated by common sense.'

There was a moment of pensive silence. Harry guiltily reflected that it might have been more sensible to go straight to a teacher once he had worked out where Draco was. A sidelong glance at Draco revealed the Slytherin chewing his lip and staring uneasily at the floor. Harry suspected that he was having similar thoughts about his attempt to stop the abduction at the Three Broomsticks.

Dumbledore's eyes flicked from one boy to the other, a faintly amused expression on his weather-beaten face. He nodded once, apparently satisfied that his point had been taken.

That is all I will say on the matter,' he said, to Harry's very great relief. At this point, there are far more important issues to discuss. I would like you both to relate to me exactly what happened, while the events are still fresh in your minds.'

Both boys started to speak rapidly together, and Dumbledore held up a hand patiently to silence them. He conjured a comfortable floral-print sofa out of nowhere and gestured to them to sit down. Two glasses of pumpkin juice appeared on the desk in front of them.

Draco, if you would care to go first?' suggested Dumbledore politely. Harry sank back gratefully to listen.

***

A heavy silence filled the headmaster's office. Draco had finished relating his version of events, and there was a lot of information to digest. When he had shakily described his last ever conversation with his father, Harry's heart had nearly burst with sympathy. Much as he loathed Lucius, he couldn't help thinking back to the photograph he had found in Draco's cupboard. 

Whatever Lucius did while wearing his Death Eater costume, it was clear that there had been a close and affectionate relationship between the Malfoys. Harry felt a deep twinge of regret that it was ruined – especially since it was largely because of him. It was painful to see how much it hurt Draco to be parted from his family forever, and Harry reached for Draco's hand to offer silent support. 

It was just as hard when the time came for him to tell his own story. Draco remained rigid and expressionless while he related the part about Lucius letting him escape, and he was profoundly glad that he'd had had a chance to tell Draco about it while they were alone on the hillside.

Harry moved on as quickly as he could to the demise of Bellatrix Lestrange, the very likely demise of Peter Pettigrew, and the flight from the balcony. By the time he finished, Draco had relaxed and Dumbledore – as always – was looking thoughtful.

Well, boys' he said quietly. As much as I would wish that you hadn't had to experience all of this, it seems that your adventures have proved useful. Very useful.' He stood up and strolled along one side of the study, nodding respectfully to the portraits of his predecessors as he passed. They nodded back with expressions of polite curiosity.

you said that your father claimed to be aware of Professor Snape's involvement with the Order of the Phoenix?'

Draco nodded glumly. He said that he's been feeding Snape false information about Voldemort's plans. They've known for months that he's not really working for them.'

It is unfortunate, indeed, that our best-placed agent will no longer be able to gather useful information. But it is far more important that we know the situation, and can henceforth avoid placing him in danger.' Dumbledore sighed deeply, then turned to face the boys again. 

And Harryfrom what you have said, it seems Voldemort is now without one of his most devoted servantsand if I am not very much mistaken, he will shortly be without two more.'

Harry nodded. Yes, sir. Iuh, hang on_Two_ more? I mean, I'm pretty sure Wormtail won't last much longer but'

Indeed.' Dumbledore cut him off. Even if he is allowed to live once the true depth of his cowardice is discovered, I suspect that the massive dose of Veritaserum he received will leave him permanently spellbound. He will be incapable of lying, or concealing anything, and these traits will do nothing to further Voldemort's cause.

However, from the information you have been good enough to share with me, I suspect that there is one other from whom the Dark Lord should expect only a limited period of service.'

Draco gave an audible gulp. You mean'

Dumbledore smiled at him kindly. Yes, Draco. I mean your father. His dedication to Voldemort is deep-seated and habitual - all my attempts to sway him from that path over the years have failed. However, it appears that he has voluntarily taken a step away. As I have suspected for several years, there is one thing even stronger than his devotion to the dark arts. That is - of course - his love for you.'

Silence filled the study once more. Harry gazed anxiously at Draco, who seemed to be battling with a thousand thoughts and emotions all at once.

How did you know?' he whispered eventually. Harry frowned in puzzlement, and Draco continued. You said that one day I'd be able to help Harry when nobody else could. Isis that what you meant? That my father wouldn't let him go for any other reason but to save me?'

Dumbledore smiled. I do not presume to know the future, Draco. I leave that to my esteemed colleagues, Professors Trelawney and Firenze. However, when one has lived as long as I have, it becomes much easier to understand one's fellows. Even if their opinions have not been in alignment with one's own.'

Harry was baffled. He was also tired, hungry and keen to find Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts:

Now, I suggest the two of you return to your dormitories and get some rest. You have earned it. But please try not to get involved in any more of Lord Voldemort's iniquitous schemes before dinner – I have no wish to miss another meal.'

***

Harry and Draco wearily made their way along the corridor to the main staircase. There weren't many people about – most were still at lunch. However they passed Justin Finch-Fletchley at the top of the stairs, and he gave them a very funny look. Harry watched, perplexed, as he passed; then he realised belatedly that he was still holding Draco's hand. He swore and dropped it suddenly as if it were an Ashwinder's egg. They looked at each other for a moment in horror, then began to laugh.

If _he_ was shocked, I hate to think how your friends will react,' giggled Harry.

I expect they'll be a picnic, compared with yours' added Draco dryly.

Harry snorted. I'd normally agree, but to be honest I could snog you in the middle of a Quidditch match and Ron and Hermione wouldn't notice. They're way too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to my love life. I think we'll be safe for a while.'

Draco advanced on Harry with a predatory smile. In the middle of a Quidditch Match, eh? What interesting diversionary tactics you have.'

Oh, you don't know the half of it' breathed Harry as he found himself pressed against the wall. 

I can't wait to find out,' purred Draco. Oh, _damn_ it!'

The doors to the Great Hall had just burst open, and the sound of animated chatter rose to meet them. Students were beginning to leave the hall, and a few were already climbing the stairs. Harry could hear the echoing footfalls and cheerful voices rapidly growing nearer.

He opened his mouth to suggest that they move, but Draco had other ideas. Before he could say more than, I think_mmph!_', he found himself being briskly and thoroughly kissed. His eyes opened wide with surprise, then closed without his permission. 

He made a murmur of protest but somewhere between his brain and his mouth it turned into a weak moan of pleasure. Draco's hands raked down his back and slid into the back pockets of his jeans, then he moved his head and sucked Harry's earlobe gently.

The approaching students were getting nearerHarry opened his eyes a crack and saw their shadows creeping along the wall near the top of the stairs. He tried to remember how to speak – he had to make Draco stop – but he was licking and biting that sensitive spot on his neck and it was nice_very niceoh where is my invisibility cloak when I need it?_

Draco abruptly ceased in his ministrations. This Murphy character is a menace,' he muttered. I'll see you later.' Then he planted a firm kiss on Harry's lips, and was gone in a flap of expensive designer cloak.

Harry gaped after him, with an overwhelming urge to follow him to his dorm. However at that moment a small group of Gryffindors appeared at the top of the stairs and headed for the Portrait hole. Seamus brought up the rear, and looked up in surprise when he saw Harry.

Where've _you_ been?' he demanded.

I ahwent out forumm.' He gestured vaguely towards the main doors, then let his hand drop to his side in exasperation. Oh, Seamus can I tell you about it later? I need some sleep.'

Seamus smiled and seized Harry by the arm, dragging him towards Gryffindor Tower. 

Fine, then. But you'll have to talk to Ron and Hermione. When you didn't meet them at Madam Puddifoot's yesterday they thought you were sulking, because they didn't tell you that they're, you know, _together_. But don't tell them I know that! And when you weren't in your bed this morning'

Harry allowed himself to be dragged along, half listening to Seamus and half thinking about when he might next have a chance to see Draco.

***

Harry!' shrieked Hermione as he climbed throught the portrait hole. Where have you been? When Ron said you disappeared in the night we thoughtumm, we thought'

What did you think?' asked Harry innocently.

Hermione blushed and looked helplessly at Ron, who cleared his throat and came to her rescue.

Uh, well, we were worried. We even went to see Professor Dumbledore!'

Oh? What did he say?' asked Harry mischievously.

Ron opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. he uh, I mean we'

He was cut off as Hermione suddenly burst into tears and pushed past him to hug Harry. Oh, Harry I'm sorry we didn't tell you. We didn't mean to exclude you or anything, it was just that we couldn'tI don't know why butoh we'll never keep anything from you again!' she wailed.

Harry gave her an affectionate squeeze and chuckled softly.

What's so funny?' frowned Ron.

You two,' replied Harry. Did you really think I'd flown off in a sulk because I'd found out about the two of you? I've known for monthsI didn't say anything because you obviously didn't want to talk about it.' He released Hermione, who sniffed and stared at him in bewilderment.

You knew?' she whispered.

Harry yawned and began to amble wearily towards the stairs. For a brainbox, you can really be dim sometimes, Herm,' he said amiably. Had you forgotten how well I know the two of you?'

Ron was still frowning. where _were_ you?' he asked.

Oh, I just needed a change of scenery' said Harry dismissively from halfway up the stairs. I took myself off for a weekend break at the Copernicus. Nice place – very good laundry facilities.' With that he disappeared, leaving his friends to stare after him in bafflement.

***

Harry opened his eyes and panicked, not sure where he was. Gradually he realised that he was lying the wrong way round in bed, so the window was on his right instead of his left, where it should have been. He had managed to get himself half undressed – his shirt was bunched up on the floor next to his socks. Then he must have collapsed face down on the bed, and slept where he fell. 

He vaguely realised that he still had his glasses on. He usually couldn't see the moon so clearly from his bed, but the glowing white crescent flew sharply into focus as he looked out of the window. A warm thrill coursed through him at the sight – for some reason it reminded him of something extremely pleasant. 

He turned onto his back and glanced around the moonlit dorm. The other beds were empty – that was odd. He glanced at the clock, and discovered that it was still only early evening. Everyone would be at dinner. His stomach growled at the thought but he didn't move; he was far too comfortable and relaxed to get up. In fact the whole situation had a pleasantly familiar feel to it, and a warm fizz of anticipation was starting to rise. 

His sleepy brain was just trying to remember why he felt so happy and fluffy when the door creaked open. He turned to see a dimly lit figure enter the room and close the door. His heart began to pound as the visitor approached. Moonlight fell on silvery blond hair and Harry sat bolt upright.

_Draco!_' he whispered.

Draco smiled silently, making his way across the room and taking off his cloak. He draped it over a chair, then kicked off his shoes. The whole routine was very familiar to Harry, and he could tell by Draco's shy yet suggestive smile that he remembered it well, too. 

Draco reached the side of the bed and stopped, reaching for Harry's hands and pulling him up so that he was kneeling on top of the covers. Harry quivered expectantly as Draco brought one of his hands to his lips. He couldn't stop a small moan from escaping as Draco began to suck his fingertips gently, one by one, just like he did before

He closed his eyes, slowly sinking into delirium as Draco's hands snaked around his shoulders and lightly stroked the back of his neck. He silently willed him to do that again, then moaned in protest when Draco took his hands away altogether. He opened his eyesthen opened them wider. The hands that had been so cleverly raising goosebumps all down his back were now methodically undoing the buttons on Draco's robe, and the increasing expanse of ivory skin suggested that he was not wearing anything underneath

Harry leapt to his assistance, fingers trembling with the realisation of what he was doing. _I'm undressing MalfoyMalfoy, who tried to get me expelledwho victimised me and insulted my friendswho cheated at Quidditchsabotaged my potionsinvaded my dreams_a few more buttons came undone in his shaking hands. _Saved my life_he thought weakly.

His breaths came faster as all his memories of Malfoy condensed into one moment – the moment when he had found him lying motionless on his bed, magically-created moonlight gently illuminating his naked body. The sight had left him stunned and breathless, and it did so again now, as Draco slipped the robe off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

Harry tentatively ran his fingers down Draco's chest, marvelling at the cool smoothness of his skin. He had never noticed the pale, soft hairs across his breastbone before_but then it's never been this real before_he reflected. Then he shivered with pleasure as Draco paid similar attention to his own chest, showering gentle kisses along his shoulder at the same time. 

Harry ducked his head, feeling Draco's quickened breaths on his face as their lips pressed lightly together. Nerves that usually had nothing much to do suddenly sprang to life, making his whole body ache deliciously. He wrapped his arms firmly around Draco's waist and parted his lips, gently stroking Draco's mouth with his tongue. He felt Draco trembling in his arms and drew him closer, slowly running one hand up his back.

Pausing for breath, he brought his hand to Draco's face and lightly ran his index finger over his bottom lip. Draco smiled and turned his head to follow the movement, eventually treating Harry's fingertip to a combination of teeth, lips and tongue that sent miniature lightning bolts shooting through him. He whimpered, trying to suggest to Draco that it might be nice if he did that againbut language was far beyond him. Thought and movement seemed to have him stumped as wellDraco had taken hold of his hand, lacing their fingers together, and now he was planting light, tingling kisses all over his face.

Every caress of Draco's lips made Harry ache for more. He drew back slightly to look Draco in the face – the grey eyes were wide and shiningand his lips were parted.

With a hungry groan, Harry pulled Draco's head towards his own until their lips met once more. He opened his mouth and shuddered with unbearable pleasure as Draco's tongue slowly glided over his own.

Draco's hands wandered down over Harry's stomach, pausing to stroke a ticklish spot which he had discovered in a dream. Harry squirmed and giggled. Stop it,' he breathed against Draco's neck. You know that tickles.'

Sorry,' murmured Draco. I just wanted to see if it works in real life'

A second later Harry found himself blessing reality and the whole world and every living moment, as he felt Draco's hands drop to his waist, swiftly unfastening his jeans. _Oh God, that's a good idea_he thought, wriggling out of them. Then he stretched out on his back, lifting his hips off the bed so that Draco could take off his boxers. He seized Draco's hands and pulled him down on top of him, gasping with delight at the soft warmth of Draco's skin against his own.

He firmly wrapped his legs around Draco. And I want to see if _this_ works in real life' he murmured, thrusting his hips against Draco's. Draco groaned and thrust back, which was all the encouragement Harry needed. He let go of Draco's hands, taking hold of his hips instead as he began to grind rhythmically against him. Draco's eyes closed in an expression of painful ecstasy, and he buried his face in Harry's neck with a whimper. Then, with no warning, Draco thrust his arms underneath Harry and rolled them both over. The change in position gave Harry a thrill of new sensations, and he slowed his movements for a moment to savour it.

Draco groaned in protest and bucked against him, seizing his mouth in a desperate, ravenous kiss. Harry took the hint and picked up his pace, moaning Draco's name as his crescendo of arousal began to build. Draco writhed and panted beneath him, his fingers digging into Harry's buttocks.

Don't stopoh, _Harry_don't stop'

By this point no power in the universe could have made Harry stop. His breath came in sharp, halting gasps and he pumped against Draco in a series of quick, jerking spasms. Draco arched off the bed and cried out helplessly

Harry collapsed, sweating from blissful exertion. Waves of raw emotion washed over him and he gave a short, joyful sob into Draco's neck. He could feel Draco's heart rapidly drumming against his chest, and could hardly distinguish it from his own thundering pulse. 

Harry lay motionless, his body half draped over Draco's as they slowly floated back down to earth. There was no sound but their own laboured breathing, and the rustle of fabric as Draco closed the bed hangings with a wave of his wand. After a few minutes of comfortable stillness, Draco turned towards Harry and nuzzled the side of his face.

Is it alright if I stay here tonight?' he whispered.

Mmmm,' replied Harry, wrapping an arm firmly around Draco's chest for emphasis.

What happens if WeaslI mean Ronlooks in and finds me in your bed?'

that can be our next big adventure.'

Minutes, or possibly hours, passed in a warm and blissful silence. Harry drifted pleasantly on the edge of unconsciousness, torn between staying awake to enjoy every minute that he spent in Draco's arms, and plummeting headlong into welcome oblivion.

Pinch me' he murmured, through a thick haze of glowing contentment.

Why?' whispered Draco, softly kissing his ear.

You know why. Just do it' Harry replied drowsily.

He felt Draco's hand slide lazily down his back, then a sharp pain in his right buttock.

Ow!' he said happily, and felt Draco smile against his face. 

He allowed himself to sink into the deep and wonderful sleep of the afterglow, safe in the knowledge that no matter what he dreamed about, _this_ was real. And it would still be real in the morning.

The End

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End file.
